


Mother May I

by AllMyShipsAreProblematic, Datmomfriend



Series: Two Truths & A Lie [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Description of a wound being stitched, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Handcuffed Together, Lottocron Nine, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Orgasm Control, Past Ford Pines/Stan Pines, Past Stan pines/Rick Sanchez
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllMyShipsAreProblematic/pseuds/AllMyShipsAreProblematic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Datmomfriend/pseuds/Datmomfriend
Summary: Looking into that face suddenly made Rick feel achingly nostalgic. In this confined space, all Rick could hear was fuzzy synthesizers and his mind's eye was awash in the melancholy blue of neon beer signs and winter moonlight.  Rick could feel the blood thrumming in his ears and he didn't care because his mouth was just so close to this man, this Stanford. It would be so easy to just dip his head and...





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like updates on the newest stories in the "Two Truths & A Lie" series or would like to share them, links are posted on my tumblr. please follow and reblog at Allmyshipsareproblematic.tumblr.com

Cynn City had landed in the author's sector of Lottocron Nine. He highly disapproved of gambling but the best way to blend in was to do as the Romans did. Also, he needed a way to unwind. Even he could admit that the stress of dimension jumping needed to be relieved from time to time. 

The Author walked into the casino, with its overly done golden interior and gaudy decor. He wore his goggles and handkerchief over his face and didn't bother to remove them. He made his way to the bar. Bright blinking lights spelled out "Slots N' Shots" in red and blue neon. 

The Author approached what looked like a slot machine except for the spout that stuck out of the rectangular winning slot. He grabbed a plastic cup and placed it under the middle spout of one of the few Earth dimension machines. Digging into the pocket of his trench coat the man pulled out the right type of coins and dropped the appropriate monetary value into the slot. A large six-fingered hand grasped the brass lever and pulled. He hoped he wouldn't get tapioca again. 

Around went the dials at high velocity, too fast to see. After a minute the first dial stopped with a loud thunk revealing the first pictogram. A potato. The Author raised an eyebrow behind his goggles. He'd never gotten a potato before. The other two dials thunked to a stop, one after another. Potato, potato, potato?

Suddenly several bells and whistles went off as his cup filled with a tall glass of vodka. Apparently, he had hit a jackpot. He took his drink and added ice from the complimentary compartment next to the machine and moved to a bar stool, hoping no one had paid him too much attention. He was incognito and the last thing he needed was to be noticed, especially by a desperate bounty hunter. This was one of the many dimensions where his bounty would fetch a high price. The risk was worth the reward though

Placing his glass on the counter, The Author took a slow inconspicuous look around the room. He didn't recognize any faces in the crowd but that didn't mean much. He decided to take the chance. In a practiced movement, he removed his goggles and bandana but kept his hood up just in case. Finally, he took a sip. He grimaced at the harsh taste but it was still top shelf vodka. It had never been his liquor of choice but right now this drink felt like the last bottle of water in the desert. He took another sip and this one went down much easier. He felt himself relax and he resigned himself to nursing his beverage.

"The hell is that? Ouzo and goat's milk?! Come on!" Someone shouted hoarsely from behind him. The exclamation was followed by a loud ringing burp. The man at the bar risked a glance over his shoulder making as if to drink from his glass and instead using it to hide his face. 

A human man who looked to be in his mid to late forties was half standing and half hanging on the nearest slot machine. He was in silver Doc Marten boots and cuffed light blue jeans. His black t-shirt had a monochrome drawing of a woman in a skimpy striped dress holding a gun. The pink letters above the drawing read 'Sonic Youth'. Over that was a fitted leather jacket. The man had one of the bar's logo covered cups in one hand and was pulling himself to his feet by gripping the lever he had just pulled on the machine. 

Once fully upright again, he stood with some difficulty, fishing through his pockets. He put the cup in his teeth so he could open his coat and check the inside pocket. Much to his elation, he pulled out a coin and placed in the machine's slot. He traded the full cup for the empty one he was holding and pulled the lever. He sipped on his first drink as the lights flashed and the infinity sided wheels spun. Despite his earlier objections, it didn't seem to bother him but the author thought maybe this man was not tasting much of anything right now.

From where he sat, the author could see the wheels as they hammered to a stop in succession. An orange, a stalk of sugarcane and... was that a monkey? The slot machine's bells whirled and whistled, the lights flashed and pre-recorded sound bites of something like a tiger's roar issued from the machine, adding to the din the man who had pulled the lever was making.

"Jungle juice, mother fuh...fucker! That's how we do!" He shouted triumphantly. He snatched the second cup and began to stumble to the bar, taking alternating sips from each cup. The six-fingered man quickly turned away and stared down into his drink.

The drunk made it to the bar, though perhaps just barely and placed both cups firmly on the bar before climbing onto the barstool directly next to the author. A bit of alcohol curdled milk sloshed over the edge of one cup and onto the bar. The author tried hard to ignore it. 

The man sitting beside him took a full gulp of the ouzo mixture and made a face before pushing it away. The author peeked back at the other man. He held his cup of jungle juice protectively in both hands as if gravity would betray him at any minute and send his drink floating away. He looked out across the bar and blinked thickly. It looked like it took an effort. He brought the cup to his lips and drank greedily. 

The drunk smacked his lips and glanced over at the man beside him. The author instinctively turned his head away and looked back down at the bar. The man went back to his drink, but only for a few sips before looking again. The author could feel that gaze boring a hole into the side of his head. Soon he could no longer stand it and looked back at the other man

He was concentrating hard and it showed. One could say that the wheels could be seen turning in the man's head but it seemed that the alcohol had rusted any wheels into place. He was squinting densely as if searching for something very small in a very dim room. At last, like in slow motion, a bizarre kind of clarity spread over the man's face. The peculiar smile of a drunk who had succeeded in his own taxing mental gymnastics unfurled on his lips. 

"Stanford? Stanford Pines?" He asked, delighted. Stanford turned his head slightly and looked the other man over quickly but thoroughly. There was nowhere he could place this man in his memory but Ford knew his face was well known across the multi-verse. He pulled his hood up a little higher and turned back to his drink.

"Sorry, I don't think I know you." he said placidly, hoping this man would get the hint. The drunk man's brow knit in confusion.

"Huwha?" Another mental hurdle came and went and he began to laugh hoarsely "Oh, ohhoho, ok, you can't fuck a fucker, Stanford."

The man reached out and clapped Ford hard on the back. Vodka splashed down the side of Ford's hand. He squeezed Ford's shoulder with a genuine air of familiarity.

"I see you got that portal up and running! D'ja ever patch things up with your brother?" He slurred. The hooded man turned to the drunk with a look of pure surprise. Ford never spoke about Stanley. There was no way this man could know all of these facts. 

"Yes... I was able to make my portal work adequately. Unfortunately, my brother and I are estranged." Ford said slowly. He shrugged off the other man's hand. "Where exactly did we meet?" 

Ford had a hypothesis about a brain wiping dimension and he was interested in finding an answer. The man took another swig of his drink. A rivulet of jungle juice dribbled down his chin. The look of confusion returned. Ford could swear there was something else in his face, a despondency perhaps, but it was gone too soon to read properly and replaced with something cynical and humorous.

"Wow, I know, I-I-I know we didn't leave on the be-euurrr-st of terms but shit, you couldn't forget me if you tried. It was one hell of a weekend, even you...you gotta admit." He stared at Ford, watching his expression. When he saw no recognition he continued.

"It's me! Rick! Rick Sanchez?" He waited a beat, swaying in his chair, then hissed laughter behind his teeth as something occurred to him "Y'know... Debbie?"

"I don't know any Debbie or a Rick Sanchez." Ford said as he looked around. People were starting to look. Nothing made him jumpier than people looking at him. He tried to turn back to his drink. "I believe you have me confused with someone else." 

He hunched his shoulders and sipped his drink, hoping he could dissuade the looks he was receiving and that this Rick Sanchez would finally take the hint.

For perhaps the fifth time in the last five minutes, Rick's pickled mind struggled through what he thought he knew and what new information was being presented to him. The proper synapses finally fired and Rick began to laugh louder than before. He nodded his head sagely and waggled his finger at Ford. He stopped long enough to gulp the last of his jungle juice. He put the cup down and returned to his ouzo and milk. He tapped his nose as he continued to laugh in a wordless expression of 'you got it on the nose' and was momentarily distracted by the numbness in his nose that the tapping had brought to his attention. At last, he spoke.

"Ah-haha, alright, alright, I gotcha. But, ah...you _are_ Stanford Pines, aren't you?"

On the edge of his peripheral vision, Ford saw two scaley creatures looking his way and whispering to each other. 

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop saying my name so loudly." He said as he knocked back what was left of his drink then moved to readjust his goggles and handkerchief. Before he could, Rick stood, stumbling slightly. He caught himself by slinging an arm around Ford's shoulders. He wheezed laughter again. 

"Ok, so this is going to sound really embarrassing, but... I think I've screwed you up with an alternate Stanford Pines. It's nothing against you, I'm not saying you all look the same. I mean, you do. It's just, you know, infinite realities, infinite Stanfords. It's an honest mistake. And I have been... enjoying these shot machines, hoo boy, let me tell you! H-have, have you tried those things? Absolutely fuckin' wild!" He rambled. 

The two aliens were starting to get up and were definitely looking Ford's way but at least he had the answer to why this slovenly man thought he knew him. As if Ford would ever associate with someone like that. He pushed the blue haired man away a bit rougher than he meant to. 

"I'm leaving. Pardon me." he walked briskly to the door. Rick pitched as he was shoved away. The last of Rick's curdled drink sloshed onto his shirt.  He watched Ford go but then followed after. 

"Hey..." He said. Ford ignored his call. "Hey!"

Rick followed Ford as he left the bar and walked into the casino proper. Rick called again but Ford did not respond. He instead upped his pace. Rick's long legs had no difficulty keeping up. Ford made to turn a corner sharply and perhaps could have used that opportunity to slip into the crowd but Rick saw what he was doing and pulled his portal gun from his coat.

Rick blasted a portal into the wall and stepped in, stepping out through the other side of the wall, effectively cutting Ford off at the pass. Rick staggered as he somehow managed to catch his toe on the lip of the portal. It shut with a whoosh of air.

"Hey, asshole!" He barked "I liked this shirt! And just because I mistook you for a parallel version of yourself doesn't give you the right to act like, like...an asshole!"

The last word came out as 'ashhole' in Rick's current slur. Rick reached out and took Ford by the lapel. Ford wasn't looking at the man who held him by his coat. He was looking past Rick where the portal had been, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

"How did you.... But..." Ford looked back at the man appraisingly. "How did you do that?" 

"Stanford Pines!" A gruff voice called from behind. "We got a universe with our names on it for bringing you in." 

Ford looked back and, low and behold, there were the two bruisers from the bar.

"Damn! Move!" He growled pushing past Rick. Rick hit the wall hard. His head swam and his stomach lurched. A boiling irritation was setting up shop in his neck and skull as a tension headache and Rick was getting real sick of getting brushed aside both metaphorically and literally today. Rick stomped after the man out the front door of the casino and out onto the street. 

"Yo, dickbag!" He called out crossly. 

"You really need to leave me alone. I'm not in a good situation right now." Ford said as he tried to weave through the crowd and lose his pursuers. He turned down a quieter side street. It was narrow which was a risk but he had to take it. Rick kept pace with Ford, slipped through the crowd and into the street with him. He reached out his hand to grab Ford by the shoulder when a gruff voice rumbled ahead of them both.

"Gotcha now, Pines." Said the larger of the two aliens, as he appeared at the end of the street, cutting off his escape. He looked like an alligator that had learned to walk on its hind legs and dressed like a henchman from a trash action film. Leather pants, a dark maroon shirt with a dirty ratty looking duster over the top. A smile spread across his large muzzle and Ford could see that some of his teeth had been replaced with gold ones. He was holding a pair of manacles in his clawed hand. "Now put these pretty bracelets on and come along quietly. Bill wants you alive but he doesn't say unharmed. I'm thinkin' as long as you can talk we can do what we want with the rest of ya."

Ford looked back the way he came. But there was no escape there either. The other bounty hunter was blocking the way. This one was squatter but no less strong. It held a strong resemblance to a triceratops and was covered in leathery blue grey scales. Ivory like horns that were stained yellow like a chain smoker's teeth curled out from its head and snout. The leftmost horn was studded with copper hoop piercings that jingled against each other as it stepped down the alley. It had a massive laser gun strapped to one bulky leg and a smaller pistol sized one in its hand. Ford palmed the taser out of his coat pocket, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it at Rick.

"Don't lose that." He growled as he kept his eyes on the two creatures. Rick caught the coat as it flew into his face. He held it crumpled in his arms. 

"First of all, you are a dickbag, cause I said dickbag and you responded. Do a little soul searching on that, why don't ya?  Secondly, why the hell is it always dinosaur fucking cowboys? It's like they only realities where they went extinct were the ones where we wrote Saturday morning cartoon shows about them. Fuck this, I'm out of here." Rick growled.

He lifted his portal gun and with a sickening crack, gawped as the triceratops shot it clean out of his hand. Or at least most of it. The handle was still in Rick's grasp, wires sticking out like mangled undersea coral. The rest of the portal gun skittered past Ford and the gator bounty hunter and came to a stop, buzzing and sparking. 

"Nobody's going anywhere." The dinosaur-like alien said in a voice like a bass drum. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Rick's tone sounded more like someone who had just spent an hour in line at the DMV only to been sent back to the end for missing one form than a man in a life and death situation. He stomped a few steps forward as if to go survey the damage in the remains of his portal gun but only made far enough to stand beside Ford, before he heard the whirring charge of the pistol behind him, undoubtedly being aimed at his head. He stopped in his tracks, visibly annoyed.

"I'll give you one warning." Ford said, narrowing his eyes and looking between the two bounty hunters. He could see the butt of a gun underneath the fluttering duster of the tall alien. "Bill doesn't keep his promises, but I do. And I promise you will regret your actions." 

With a quick lunge, Ford grabbed for the gun. Unfortunately, he had underestimated how fast the big alien could move. It snagged Ford's wrist and squeezed hard.

"Stupid little man." The alligator growled as he slid one cuff around Ford's captured wrist. "Might as well take in your friend too. Maybe Bill will give us a bonus." He clinked the other cuff around Rick's wrist then turned a feral grin to Ford. "And to remind you who's in charge..." 

Blunt claws dug into Ford's back just below his left shoulder blade. Ford grunted but suppressed a scream. The lizard leaned close to Ford's face. He could smell its fishy breath as it laughed softly. "Play nice and we won't hurt you too bad. Bill can always put you back together as long as we bring him all the pieces."

The claws were yanked out and Ford's knees almost gave out beneath him. Rick had been too focused on his bisected portal gun to see the cuff coming for him until it was too late. He stared at it in a disconnected way for a beat, starting at his own cuffed wrist and traveling the length of it down to the afflicted Stanford, before he seemed to put it together and reacted violently.

"Really? Are we really, we're really doing the chained heat trope? What is this, Three's Company?!" He slurred in a discordant voice. Rick flapped his arms in an impotent sign of frustration as he spoke. He yanked Ford to one side with the motion. Thinking quickly, he used Ford's pitching weight to catch the alligator, who still had Ford's arm in a death grip, off guard and pull him forward. Rick reached to take Ford's unchained hand, the one that still held the taser, in his own, having to cross Ford's bound arm across his chest. They were pulled into an odd pose, almost as if Rick were hugging Ford from behind, Ford's coat squashed between them.  

Striking the on button, Ricked jabbed the taser into the alien's gut, pushing hard. The gator seized violently and as soon as Rick had cut the power, he threw the three of them, in a ball of leather and scales and chaos, head over heels to the ground. Rick came out of the tumble in a rather graceful somersault, swiping up the other half of his portal gun and yanking Ford to his feet. He shoved Ford's coat back into the man's face and began to run, tucking the pieces of portal gun into his pockets safely.

"Oh no, Chrissy, I thought you had the handcuff keys! But Jack, I've got a hot date tonight! Guess you're gonna have to tag along but act natural!" Rick shouted as he ran, bitterly characterizing both sides of an imaginary sitcom conversation. He screamed the next few words back over his shoulder, sorely at Ford. "Hilarity ensues, laugh track, cut to commercial!"

Ford blinked at the man as they ran. It wasn't how he expected that scenario to go. He was going to tase the squat alien but that's as far as he had planned. Then this... Rick Sanchez had turned into a drunken ball of fury and taken out the bounty hunter before he could do anything. Unfortunately, it had only been one and the other was in hot pursuit. 

Ford's brain was working a mile a minute and he wanted to yell at Rick that he got the "Three's Company" reference and he could stop yelling about Mr. Furley finding out Jack has a girlfriend. The portal blaster the tall man had used was in pieces but perhaps that was in Ford's best interest as he could see how it was constructed. That was if they survived. His back throbbed and the run and Rick yanking them along wasn't helping. They had to hide. 

"This way!" He panted as he pulled Rick into an alley. His thumb found the cloaking device's button sewn into the coats lining. It shimmered strangely and then changed over to an image of the concrete walls on either side of the alley.  Ford slammed Rick against the wall and pressed himself against Rick. He groaned softly as his muscles ached when he pulled the inside out coat over the both of them,  blending them into the wall. It was not a perfect cloak but if they remained completely still amongst the trash cans and debris they might go unnoticed. Rick's chained arm up went up involuntarily over his head as Ford pulled the coat over them, bracing his own forearms at either side of Rick's temples. Rick's other arm pressed hard on to the wall behind him, trying to make himself flat as possible.

"Don't move. Don't speak." He said. Ford's hot breath puffed against the side of Rick's neck. He could hear the bounty hunter approaching the alley. Rick stood stone still, heart pounding hard with the effort of the short sprint. He was aware of Ford's own heartbeats with their chests touching like that. Rick could smell the strong scent of the ouzo of course, but this close he couldn't help but smell the scent of Ford's skin. India ink and chalk dust and the tang of day old sweat. 

"Where you at, Pines? Ya can't run forever!" It was the booming voice of the dinosaur. There was a crash and the yowl of some street animal followed by the high pitched ascending hum of a laser pistol warming up. A pause. Rick held his breath and was strangely alarmed when Ford pressed his body that much closer. He looked at Ford, face so close to his own that he was almost out of focus. Ford looked back with a desperate yet silent command in his eyes that Rick not move or they would both die.

Looking into that face suddenly made Rick feel achingly nostalgic. In this confined space, all Rick could hear was fuzzy synthesizers and his mind's eye was awash in the melancholy blue of neon beer signs and winter moonlight. The light jingle of the bounty hunter's horn piercings was directly beside them now and Rick could feel the blood thrumming in his ears and he didn't care because his mouth was just so close to this man, this Stanford. It would be so easy to just dip his head and...

Ford hadn't been looking at Rick. He hadn't been focusing on the sounds of the bounty hunter and trying to pinpoint the exact location of the dinosaur. Eyes down, trying to decide whether it was safer to run or stay put. It was surprising when he felt liquor stained breath brush against his cheek and Ford looked up at Rick. He hadn't noticed the subtle attractiveness of the other man back in the bar because of the distaste at his drunken behavior but Rick had a handsome angular face and a strong jaw. Ford could feel muscle and sinew under the dirty thin shirt and the Author had to admit he'd always enjoyed his partners to be on the taller side even when it came to females. It had been a few years since he had had an encounter with a male let alone a male humanoid. 

Rick's eyes were looking at Ford's lips and he felt a blush creep over his face as Rick leaned closer. He shook his head slightly and glared at Rick but the other man didn't seem to notice. He braced himself for the brush of lips but to his relief, there was a small electrical jangling coming from where the dinosaur creature was. 

"What?" The booming voice said into the communicator. "Naw...bastards must have turned a corner. Can't find them anywhere. Yeah, yeah. On my way back. Told you we should have torn a leg off." It kept talking as it exited the alley and moved away from the two men.

Rick was about to throw caution to the wind as he very often did when an uneasy lurching feeling marched its way up his esophagus. It could've been all the running, it could've been the heat and stale air under the coat but whatever was to blame, the alcohol gods were displeased and about to reign their terrible vengeance down upon Rick. Rick clamped his hands over his mouth, tugging one of Ford's arms down in the process. Rick's skin went so pale it was almost grey. Ford knew that look. He quickly jumped out of the way and as far as the handcuff would allow before Rick threw up on the concrete.

"You shouldn't have drunk that milk thing you won at the casino." He admonished as Rick wretched. He turned the cloaking device off on his coat and draped it over his shoulder to hide the blood and the holes in his shirt.

Rick turned away as another heave came. He steadied himself with his free hand against the wall then tried and failed to ready his body for the next round. Hot vomit splashed to the pavement. 

"Don't tell me what to do, Stan." He gulped before his body was wracked first with convulsive dry heaves then a successful return to steaming bile. A groan escaped The Author's mouth, both out of annoyance and pain, but he filed how Rick addressed him away for future reference. 

"If you must shorten my name, I go by Ford. Not Stan." He said as the other man dry heaved again. He stood there awkwardly not sure what to do. He wasn't one to take care of people. That was Stanley. Stanford's bedside manner was rough at best. 

"I've got something that will help you at my hideout if you think you can make it there." He added somewhat lamely. Rick straightened up as much as he dared. His heartbeat had decided to move house into his stomach and his guts pulsed dangerously. 

"S'not-" Rick belched silently as bubbles of air were caught in his throat "- like I've got much of a choice." He replied, lifting his chained wrist and wriggling it. The chain clanked mildly. "I go where you go, Ford. For right now, at least."

One more pitch of his insides overtook Rick and he turned away, holding himself up with both hands on the building this time as he brought up the last of his slot machine winnings. Ford tottered at the unexpected jerk on the chain and he tried frantically to not stumble into Rick's ever-growing puddle of vomit. Ford looked down in revulsion but he was also surprised by how much such a slim frame could hold.

"Come on. It's not far." He said quietly. "I can get these handcuffs off us too."


	2. Part 2

Ford's hideout was a small and weather battered two story industrial building near the waterfront. Ford had won the place from a Lottocronian by explaining and then playing best two of three games of rock paper scissors. When the third game had ended in both of them throwing paper, Ford had been kind enough to add that in the event of such a tie, Ford would win because he had six fingers and thus a bigger sheet of paper, obviously. From that day, no one had come looking for rent or for Ford in general. It might have been a bit too big for Ford's needs but he had seen the opportunity and took it. 

He only used the second floor foreman's office as living space, both for the advantage of its view and the relative anonymity if someone were to break in looking for him and find an empty warehouse. Ford led Rick up the black iron stairs and into the loft. 

It was a somewhat open space, walls made of whitewashed brick. Tall windows with many panes, some mismatched in clear glass and chicken wire, others smoked in tones of greens and blues, many cracked or broken, ran the length of one side of the room and looked out over the multiple betting houses on the pier with names like "Card Sharks" and "Dice-sea Dealings". Ford had been at first worried about someone seeing the lights on at night in his safehouse but amidst the ever blinking and swirling of the casino's lights, he found he would go unnoticed. 

Now in the late afternoon though, the place seemed an almost tranquil if not spartan living space. Everything in the place looked ragged and worn, either bought second hand or scrounged from the trash.

A thin bedroll and green army blanket were set on the floor in the corner where the door and back wall met. It was strewn with a mix of flat pillows and sofa throw pillows for added support from the wooden planks of the floor rather than decoration. Across from that, in the middle of the windowed wall, there was a work table with of all things, a bar stool at it. A copper sink with deep double basins was attached to the end of the table. It was old like just about everything attached to the building and shot through with green streaks of patina. Ford had added a series of pipes and fittings to one of the spigots, diverting the water over to a large galvanized tub unceremoniously placed on the floor. A second series of pipes ran from the tub through a shattered window pane for drainage. He had also rigged up a clothesline over the sinks and tub from a window frame to the closest wall. Unfortunately, the closest wall was in the far side corner and the clothesline had to be stretched across the room. 

At the far side of the room was a chalkboard and a drafting table with a second bar stool. The chalkboard had all manner of equations inscribed upon it in the neat but still loose hand of someone who was letting their intellect and not their motor skills move their arm. The drafting table was strewn with papers and half finished blueprints. 

A low padded lounge chair adorned in rips and a stained pattern of spades and clubs sat in a very deliberate spot of the corner by the window, a milk crate ottoman before it. A stack of torn and dog-eared paperbacks sat beside the chair. Some were in alien languages and a few were actually in English. One was hanging over the clothesline, marking its place and within arms reach of whoever would sit there. "The House On The Borderland" by William Hope Hodgson, the cover read.  A homemade wind chime constructed out of beer bottles hung in the window there, in front of a broken pane, where it would catch the breeze. It refracted the light and scattered color into the little reading nook. A lone alien fern sat on the window sill, with a take-out cup presumably for watering beside it. 

"I think I'm sweating jäger…and tequila…and  brandy..." Rick gurgled as Ford led him in by the shackle. Rick was feeling much more sober now. Projectile vomiting until your ribs hurt had a way of doing that to a man but he was still a long way off from healthy. Sober and healthy were sometimes mutually exclusive. His head ached from the effort of vomiting and his mouth tasted like death. Rick wanted to clean the ouzo out of his shirt very badly. The strong anise smell of it was keeping him nauseous but being chained to Ford made it impossible for him to remove it. 

And on top of all of that, Rick was baffled as to how could he have thought of kissing Ford? His run in with Stan Pines had been longer than five years ago and had not ended well so why had the urge to kiss his parallel counterpart been so strong? He could only pray Ford hadn't seen the look in Rick's eyes then. 

"Perhaps next time you'll have a little temperance." Ford admonished. He didn't mean for it to come out sounding as harsh as it did but his back was throbbing so badly he was surprised his legs hadn't given out. 

Leading Rick over to the sink area, Ford opened a red cabinet, worn with age and rough use. The first thing he pulled out was a four inch bottle of soft plastic. Inside a capsule containing a light yellow liquid bisected the bottle clear liquid surrounded it. Ford slammed the bottle down on the counter top, effectively breaking the capsule than shook the bottle vigorously. He handed it to Rick. 

"Sip it. It's gonna burn a bit as it goes down. That's how you know it's working. It's like Earth ginger but much stronger." He then went back to pulling things out of the cabinet.

Rick did as he was told, refusing to move and rather letting his chained arm be pulled around limply as Ford went about his business. It did burn but not in the satisfying way whiskey did. It was a medical burn. 

"Ugh, doesn't anyone in this dimension have an Alka Seltzer?"  He groaned. Gathering up his supplies, Ford moved them to the other side of the room, pausing briefly to dump them on a milk crate beside his bedroll. Rick let himself be led around the room, not unlike a sullen nauseated puppy.  He groaned softly in a near mantra-like persistence, only stopping when necessary to sample his medicine. 

"Let's get these cuffs off." Ford brought Rick over to his work table and sat on the lone stool. Rick leaned his elbow on the table to support his watery knees and placed a hand over his eyes. Ford grabbed what looked like a small torch and clicked it on. He fiddled with the settings until he had a slim stream of flame. After slipping a specialty made six fingered flameproof glove over his hand he swiftly cut through the cuff around his wrist. He turned to Rick and offered him the glove.

"Put this on."

Rick stubbornly offered his hand for the glove, still groaning. His late afternoon hangover was making him more obliging to being told what to do, but on his terms. Ford huffed but put the glove on Rick's hand. Ford cut through Rick's cuff then turned off the torch and set what was left of the cuff aside. Good metal was hard to find. He stood laboriously from the table. 

"You can use the bath and wash your clothes in the sink." He said coldly and moved wearily to the bedroll. Stanford sat cross-legged on his bedding with his back to Rick and slowly, painfully removed his sweater revealing black tattoos running up his arms. 

Wristlets and armbands connected by ancient letters and spells of power and protection. Runes and symbols, some from the research of his journals and others newly discovered at the time of their inking onto his skin. Each symbol was a ward against the type of insidious magic Bill was apt to use against Ford.

He tossed the sweater to the floor. His back muscles flexed under the pictogram of an inverted triangle with a circle in it. The shaman had told Ford that his greatest failure was to be placed on his back as a reminder of what was behind him and what he would move forward from.

Rick pulled his flask out from his coat, uncapping it with one hand and sipped gingerly. He then put it down and groped for the tonic bottle. 

"My head's going to explode. You know...you know that one guy in Scanners? Exactly like that. All dog food and red food coloring..." He lamented. Pouring disinfectant on a cotton pad, Ford half listened to his companion complain. 

"I wasn't much for movies when that one came out." He said evenly.  Rick was not the type of person that Ford would regularly associate with but there was something about him that reminded him of Stanley. At least when they were younger. Before Stanley had betrayed him and wrecked his project and his future. Stanford took a deep meditative breath and pushed these thoughts aside. 

The wound was at an awkward angle for him to reach and Ford hissed through his teeth as his muscles moved so he could reach it. Cleaning the wound was very hit and miss. He gritted his teeth in frustration and groaned when he finally hit his target. 

"I think we're both going to need some painkillers soon." He huffed, relaxing his muscles for a moment. Rick looked up and turned at the sound of Ford's discomfort. He was suddenly stricken at the sight. Stan had had a tattoo, that much Rick remembered, but nothing like that. Despite his queasiness, Rick felt a significant spike of familiar lust rise in him. He did his best to squash it when he saw the runnels of blood sluggishly trickling down Ford's shoulder blade. 

"Oh shit, he really got you, huh?" Rick said. He began to approach Ford but the movement caused the scents of booze, spoiled goat's milk and drying vomit to waft up into his face. Rick wretched but keep it down. He quickly stripped his coat and shirt, chucked the shirt into the sink and replaced his jacket, zipping it just above his navel. 

"C'mere, c'mere..." Rick insisted distractedly, though it was he who went to Ford "Stop it. You can't reach that yourself, stupid. You're gonna ma-" Rick belched and grimaced at the taste "-hayke it worse."

Rick inspected the wound and whistled low. "That is pretty deep there. Yup, pre-tty deep. It's going to need stitches. Got a needle?"

Trust no one, was Ford's first thought. He looked over his shoulder at the other man, planning on declining the help, but was silenced when he saw the other man's bare chest from inside his partially zipped coat.

Ford would never say he had a "type". His type was whatever he found attractive at that moment and the multi-verse had surprised him with how varied that could be. Now this slim Earth male who had more muscle that should be strictly allowed for a man in his late forties was pushing all his sexy bad boy buttons. He looked away after staring for too long and blushed. 

"Red cabinet under the sink. There are a needle and thread in a white box. You might as well bring over the green pills too. They'll relieve some of your pain." Ford stopped and thought for a second "There's also sweet water in the cooler next to the cabinet. I think we could both use a drink."

"What happened to having a little temperance?" Rick asked. It was a tone that could have been joking or cruel. Ford assumed he didn't know Rick enough to tell the difference. Rick went to the cabinet and began to pull what he needed. When he came to the painkillers, Rick stopped, popped three of them, washing them down with his nearby flask then offered the bottle to Ford, not moving from his side of the room. Ford didn't turn until Rick rattled the bottle, getting his attention.

Ford ran his eyes over the tall man again, assessing the situation. Play Rick's game or get burned was what he got. He gave a labored groan as he picked himself up off the floor and walked over to his companion. Rick shook out a few pills. Ford plucked the pills from Rick's hand and tossed them in his mouth. He kept eye contact with Rick as he took the flask and knocked it back. Ford made a face and regretted his decision as soon as he made it. He forced himself to swallow. He coughed hard. 

"Ugh! What was that?" He covered his mouth with his free hand and shoved the flask back at Rick. Rick laughed hard. He capped his flask, tucking it back into his coat then continued to gather the last of his supplies, crossing back to Ford's makeshift bedside table milk crate for the hydrogen peroxide and cleaning pads.

"You didn't have to do that." He snickered to Ford as he went. There was a terse wit in his words that told Ford he could see when someone was trying to play tough around him. 

Rick washed his hands vigorously, then opened up the tin suture kit he had found in the cabinet and trimmed a length of the nylon thread inside. His moves were short and precise. It was the studied form of someone that perhaps had not been in this exact position before, but was no stranger to improvised medical procedures. 

Unthinkingly, Rick took Ford by the forearm with the intention of moving the man to the sink to clean his wound. Acting on impulse, Ford broke the hold, grabbed Rick's wrist and spun around him. He slammed his knee into the back of the tall man's knee, forcing him to bend. He slammed the other man against the countertop and braced him there with a hand on the back of Rick's neck. Ford bent Rick's arm behind his leather-clad back and pressed himself against the blue haired man to keep him in place. 

Ford's mind was racing. Could this be another bounty hunter? Could he be working for Bill and that's why he knew so much? When this man called him Stan had it been a veiled threat against his brother?

"Did Cipher send you?!" He groaned, his back aching but he hoped the pills would kick in soon.

"Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell!? I don't know who you're talking about!" Rick barked. Even injured, Ford's grip was strong. Rick tried to jerk free and the hand on Rick's neck slammed him down again, hard enough to make the medical tools clatter in their box. Ford's hand clamped harder, warningly on his wrist and Rick stilled.

"I get it, I get it, you're jumpy and hurt and you don't know me from a hole in the ground. But, listen to me! I-if, if, if I had been with those guys from before I could've blown your cover back in the alley. Why would I let you get all the way back here just to kill you now?" Rick swallowed stiffly and tried to look at Ford. There was both anger and distress in his words. "Look, dickbag. You need me. You're going to bleed out if we don't close those mother fuckers up so if you want my help, you're gonna have to chill the fuck out, okay?!"

Rick waited tensely for Ford's response. He took stock of the position he was currently in and couldn't help the deadly lewd thought that followed. It would be so easy to just dip his spine and his ass could rub in that delicious junction where it met Ford's crotch. The urge to grind against this man who looked like his once upon a time partner, for no other reason than just to get a reaction was strong. Rick knew that would probably prompt Ford to dash his brains out right then and there but Rick's unchecked death drive had a way of getting the better of him some days. His heart hammered in his chest like a bird trying to escape its cage. The Author felt Rick's pulse. It was fast but not the way it would be if the other man was lying. He released Rick and stepped back. 

"I apologize." He said sincerely. "I've been on the run a long time. Trusting is hard for me and I'm not use to being touched." he looked away, ashamed of his scared and jumpy demeanor. Rick turned, holding himself up solely by his elbows on the work table. He prayed he didn't have an erection. He took a breath letting it out in a long careful sigh. 

"Yeah. I noticed." He replied dourly. He was surprised at how Ford had gone so quickly from efficient powerhouse to calm collected nerd, like flipping a switch. Rick found his feet and extended his hands gingerly as if trying to coax a frightened animal out of its hiding place. "Now come here, freaky Vulcan Rambo. I don't bite."

Ford looked at Rick again and wondered if he should tell him he was kind of flattered by being called a Vulcan. The Rambo part was foreign to him but he assumed it was a new alien species on Star Trek. Ford was desperately hoping that one of the extended universe novels would find their way through the ether and into the small second-hand bookstore he frequented. It wouldn't have been the first Earth book to have wandered into another dimension that Ford had stumbled on. 

He stepped close, placed his hand in Rick's and tried not to blush. He refused to look like some maiden in a D, D and more D campaign. "Where do you want me?"

Rick had not expected Ford to actually take his hand. He looked down at it a moment then just moved Ford to lean his arm and shoulder over the sink. How could this guy simultaneously be a badass and an awkward little dweeb?

Rick uncapped the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it carelessly over the gashes. As the hydrogen peroxide splashed over his wounds, Ford gritted his teeth and grumbled in pain. It foamed as it dripped into the wound and down Ford's shoulder and arm. Rick dabbed at the flesh with a cotton pad, cleaning away the blood to get a better look at the injury itself. After a few minutes of this, Rick pulled the bar stool out with his foot.

"Sit down." He said clinically. Ford did so, feeling like he owed Rick some compliance after acting out the way he had. Rick crossed the room to retrieve the second barstool from by the drafting table. Those lacerations were no joke but he'd be damned if he was going to stand around the whole time. 

As he approached the table, Rick couldn't help but notice the writings on the chalkboard. There were exercises in relativity and quantum theory and advanced ones at that. The blueprints on the draft board were incredibly profound as well, even in their mostly half-finished state. Rick could tell that even at a cursory glance. He moved a well-loved copy of Frank Herbert's "Children of Dune" to the side to read the one at the top of the pile. Quantum Destabilizer Gun, it read.

With the bounty apparently on his head, not to mention all those downright badass tattoos, Rick figured he was dealing with someone not too unlike the Stanford he had come to know over that infamous weekend. Perhaps the rough hewn sheishter that his Stan had purported to have been before he had settled down in that tourist trap in the woods. But this version of Stanford was an honest to God Mensa case. Maybe the comparison to a Vulcan was more apt than Rick had first thought.

This new knowledge put a strange kind of undescribable playfulness into Rick. He had been attracted to Ford before, of course, but the thought of stumbling onto a Stanford Pines that could go toe to toe with him intellectually sent Rick's mind racing.

Rick returned with the stool and took a seat behind Ford. He unpacked the suture kit and wiped down the wound one last time, inspecting each of the four lacerations. They were deep but short, he observed. Small blessings. Taking meditative breaths, Ford tried to distract himself but the way those long fingers touched his back was maddening. He could feel the callouses and how the fingers seemed to be suitable for delicate work. 

"Did you make that portal projector?" He asked as a distraction.

"Sure did." Rick said. He didn't elaborate. Ford didn't know if that was because he had nothing to say on the matter or because he was currently absorbed in sterilizing the needle. He had it held in the tweezers that had been in the box with it and was running it through the flame of a battered plastic lighter he had produced from his coat's front pocket. He wrapped the needle in an alcohol pad and held it up to the light to thread the exposed eye.

Once that was done, he sized up the four lacerations and started at the innermost one. He pushed the needle through the skin and noted the sharp intake of breath and Ford's expression in profile. If Rick was correct, as he often was, he detected a tremble in the body under his touch. Rick cocked a foot up onto the barstool's foot rail and placed Ford's hand on his knee.

"Squeeze." He instructed plainly. He waited a beat and then began another pass with the needle. The sudden pressure on his leg was strangely welcome. A long silence held in the room. 

"So... Does everybody in your dimension have six fingers?" Rick asked in a mild tone, hoping that awkward small talk might be more distracting than awkward silence. 

"No." Ford ground out through his teeth. "I'm the anomaly." He squeezed the boney knee under his hand. It surprisingly helped. He tried to breathe through each pass of the needle. 

"Genetic anomaly passed down from my great grandfather."  He squeezed Rick's leg each time the needle went through his skin and leaned forward to press his head against the cold, soothing metal of the tap. Rick reached forward to keep Ford from ripping out the stitches he had already done and pulled him back with a firm arm across Ford's collarbone. 

"Don't do that! You're gonna tear yourself open!" He scolded. He steadied Ford and impatiently tied off the first laceration. He went on to the next, working swiftly and keeping his stitches close to the edge of the wound, but just far enough away so it wouldn't rip. Ford apologized as Rick pulled him back up. He was feeling a bit light headed. But he focused on Rick's voice, keeping a strong grip on the edge of the sink. 

"So it's just you with the extra digits. Hmm. I mean, no big deal. Just making conversation. Y'know, cause everyone in my dimension has two dicks." Rick added, casually. Ford blushed all over and his eyes flew open at Rick's words. 

"That... th-that's quite the anomaly." he stuttered looking over his shoulder. The thought was both scandalous and enticing. Ford would be lying if he said he didn't want to see though he didn't think it was proper material for his notes. Rick noted the rush of blood into Ford's face and the back of his neck. He looked at Ford a moment but couldn't keep his poker face. He made an expression that said he was unimpressed with Ford's gullibility but laughed all the same. He was feeling a little better now. The tonic and losing his foul shirt had helped and the painkillers were beginning their work.

"I'm kidding. Jeez, when I said you had to trust me I didn't mean _that_ much. I was just trying to get a rise outta you." He told Ford. He tied off the second cut. "Ok, halfway there. This next one is the deepest, so go ahead and squeeze the hell out of my leg if you got to."

He looked at Ford and feeling like he was in control of the situation again, winked.

"Don't worry. You won't hurt me."

Ford braced his hand on Rick's leg. It landed a bit above Rick's knee on the fleshier part of the thigh. He squeezed it lightly and took a deep breath. 

A memory flooded back to Ford. Thirteen years old sitting on Stanley's bunk as his brother cleaned his split lip. Some kids from school had beat them up. Stan had insisted on taking care of him first, boasting as he dabbed at Ford's scrapes with a cotton ball and iodine how the other kids had taken a beating even though they outnumbered the twins six to two. 

"Breath through it, Sixer..." Stanley had said after Ford pulled away, hissing in pain. "Don't think about the pain. Think about me. I'm taking care of you. Think of me." 

The Author's heart was in his throat and he was trying not to tear up. Stanley wasn't here to take care of him. He had this tall, oddly sexual man touching him and making him remember things he had thought were long forgotten. He focused on Rick. Those calloused, nimble fingers and long legs. That strong chest and bad boy attitude. He gripped Rick's leg and groaned out "Do it."

That voice gave Rick pause. Another barb of lust went through him. He wanted to hear Ford say it again. He wanted to hear him say it in the dark. 

Now that he had to begin again, Rick found he had to steel himself to the task. Perhaps it was something in Ford's body language or maybe it was another pang of nostalgia. But nevertheless, he began trying to move as quickly and smoothly as possible. Somehow he wanted this to be over. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why at first but then realized something with sickening clarity. 

The duality of his behavior with Ford was because he was, in effect, the same person as the man he met in Oregon in that roadhouse. They were so utterly different, so diametrically opposed and yet for once, Rick couldn't divorce the two in his mind. He logically knew that there were infinite Stanford Pines in infinite realities, but his mind kept thinking about powdered donuts and spiked coffee and icebreaker games gone too far. He continued to sew as quickly as he dared. 

"How-er...how are you holding up?" He asked, just needing to fill the air. 

"Don't stop." Ford ground out. He gripped Rick's thigh hard. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow as he hung his head. The pills had kicked in but the burning pain of the needle was a deep ache. It still hurt immensely but at least he didn't think he was going to pass out anymore. He groaned and forced himself to think about Rick. The wild blue hair and dark eyes. Thin lips that looked like they were made to sin. God, it was too hot in here.

Rick felt that one almost physically. He felt like his fingers were threatening to fumble even as they kept up their work. The six-fingered grip on his thigh was riling and wonderful. 

"Ok, now you're doing that on purpose..." Rick was surprised by the throatiness in his voice. He tied off the knot and clipped it then moved to the final gash not waiting or warning Ford before he began. He prayed he had enough thread left on the needle. Ford looked over his shoulder, flushed and sweating.

"What do you mean?" He asked looking at Rick. He gritted his teeth and groaned as Rick worked. He didn't complain though. He wanted this over with. Rick stared down at he work, fixedly. Was Ford fucking with him or was he really that naive? Rick held in a tremble when he suddenly noticed that the stitches were on the same shoulder as Stan's tattoo. Raised skin and black ink. Rick's skin felt suddenly very clammy. 

"Just... nevermind." Rick said in a short way. The last slice had been the shortest and Rick tied it off quickly. He wrapped a bandage around Ford's shoulder, the hard work now finished. Rick rubbed his thumb over a white scar on his knuckle, thinking of a time where the roles, in much less dire circumstances, had been reversed. Just a simple plastic band-aid. He'd kept it on for weeks.

"Oh thank God..." Ford panted as he leaned against the sink. He slowly removed his hand from Rick's thigh. "I appreciate this." He said and he shakily got to his feet. "Now I really am going to have a drink. I feel I've earned it. Will you join me?" 

Ford was keeping his arm close to his chest, Immobilizing the muscle that now felt bruised and sore. He moved to the little cooler and pulled out the bottle of sweet water. It was Ford's favorite drink. Made from fermented fruit, it had a sweet clean taste with a slightly medicinal finish that hid a high alcohol content. He had found it a few dimensions back and he always made sure to have a couple of bottles on hand when he found his way back to Lottocron Nine.

"Sweet Jesus, yes!" Rick said exasperated. The only thing that could help this was a bit of the hair of the dog.

Two mismatching glasses were pulled down one with a slightly blue tint. The other dark green with a swirl in the glass. Ford poured them both a measure. He handed Rick the blue glass and took his drink back to his barstool. He sat and sipped his drink. "I would still like to hear about this other Stanford. Did you work with him on the portal projector?"

Rick drained his glass, heedless of what was in it. He pulled a face that was somewhere between pain and relief when the alcohol hit his stomach like a bomb and blossomed warmly within. He felt much more normal now. He laughed, despite himself.

"No...No, that was all me." Rick was at first tickled by the thought of Stan trying to work his portal gun then felt the guilt prickle at the thought of how he, Rick, had left him  "We only met the one time. Over a weekend."

Rick neglected to mention that that weekend was less a scientific symposium and more a nearly two day bender with excess that would have made Caligula blush. A petty and possessive part of Rick could kind of enjoy keeping his Stan a mystery. Rick stood, poured himself a second drink then moved over to the sink where he began to rinse out his shirt. Ford sipped his drink.

"Just a weekend? I hope he didn't give you as much trouble as I have so far."  Yes, he was flirting a bit. In his own lame way. He was blaming the pills. It's why he hadn't pulled them out until he knew he was going to need stitches. He pulled himself together and tried to act a bit more natural. Flirting with mysterious men he'd just met wasn't really his style. "What exactly did you do over one weekend?"

Yes, Rick was enjoying the coyness of his little secret. But if he was reading the situation right, he suspected that Ford was sending him the signals. It might have been wishful thinking brought on by the other man's guileless mewling earlier but it was a risk Rick was willing to take. The best part of having a secret was sharing it and honestly Rick preferred being blunt to being coy any day of the week. Plus, Rick very much wanted to see Ford blush again. 

Rick rung out his shirt and flung it over the clothesline. He turned on his heel and leaned against the sink, crossing one Doc Marten over his ankle. He placed his hands on the crown of his head and the lifting of his arms combined with the low sling of his jeans caused the hard v shape of his pelvic bone and a dusting of hair at his waistband to show. Rick struck this rakish pose and considered Ford pragmatically.

"About six lines of coke, a tab of LSD and each other up the butt. Among other things. Not that a lady kisses and tells..." He said, looking at Ford with a friendly smile and thinly veiled hunger. Ford choked and sputtered in his drink, turning bright red in the process. 

"Pardon me?" He said once he caught his breath. He wiped the sweet liquid off his chin with the back of his hand. Trying marijuana a couple of times in college, mostly due to Fiddleford's insistence, was one thing. All that other stuff was certainly another. Ford would never do that. Though it was an alternate universe. Perhaps he had found himself in a worse situation than Backupsmore. Maybe Stanley had gotten him mixed up with a criminal element. Maybe Pop had caught the two brothers during an intimate moment and had tossed them both out on the street. He supposed any of those things could be possible. Something else occurred to Ford. 

"Who's Debbie and how was she involved in that.... weekend?" He knew the blush had spread to his chest but there was little he could do at this point. Rick had never seen such a look of utter gobsmacked prudishness on Stan's face so seeing it here reflected in the face of his decidedly more prim alternate counterpart put a worm of insuppressible humor into him and he laughed in a way that was strangely without pretention. 

"Oh my! Clutching the pearls here, beautiful! Itsa-it's an in joke, don't think about it." He explained between ringing peels.

Ford ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't like to be laughed at but Rick was so handsome when he laughed that he could forgive it this time. He took another sip from his glass, looking at the swirling light colored liquid in his glass and he smiled a little himself. Stanley would have laughed at him too. He was always telling off color jokes and telling Ford to loosen up. He swallowed the rest of his drink and pushed Stanley out of his mind. 

"While I can't condone the drug use, I suppose I'd be a hypocrite for criticizing the intercourse." He rested his elbows on his spread knees and held the top of his empty glass between his hands. He wanted the effect to be a natural roguish bad boy posture but he was worried he looked like he was just trying too hard. Though Rick had just called him beautiful so perhaps he could pull it off. He kept a very strict diet and work out regiment so of course he was handsome. He wondered what Rick did to look that good at that age. Rick brow cocked and he smiled in a way not dissimilar to the Grinch.

"That's that nerdiest way someone has ever told me I was a sexy beast." He said. Ford turned guileless eyes on Rick.

"I was talking about my former experiences with homosexual intercourse in general but I must admit you are very attractive for a man of your age." He gave Rick a small smile as he stood and walked over to refresh his drink. He stood next to Rick as he focused on pouring. "It also explains why you tried to kiss me in that alley."

Rick looked at Ford trying to read his expression. He did his best to play it cool.

"Ah, so uh, you saw that huh? I was pretty drunk." He said as if that explained it. Rick hopped up onto the work table and sat with his long legs dangling. He sipped cautiously, glancing sideways at the other man. 

"So you're a fag too?" He said into his glass. Placing the bottle to the side, Ford gave Rick a non-plussed look. 

"That's not really the word I would use. I'm not one for labels." He said loftily. "I like what I like." He slipped his drink and looked over Rick. "My assumption is you prefer males but if you're traveling the multiverse you might be more open-minded."

Rick had had this conversation before in a certain way. It was interesting to see a version of Stan that had a firm grasp of his own sexuality.

"Nailed it. I'm in the same boat. Multiverse is too small to stick to one gender. Or one species for that matter. I mean, let me just say, on a good day, tentacles have their merits..." He mused. Ford raised an eyebrow.

"I can't say I've had that pleasure myself but I'll take your word for it." He drank his drink and looked up at Rick. "So what went wrong with the other Stanford?"

"Nothing went wrong." Rick lied "We just had a good time and went our separate ways."

He didn't want to bring up the messy end of his time with Stan in case it might send up a red flag for Ford. Rick pulled a cigarette pack from his coat and placed one in his mouth. He lit it and put the lighter away.

"May I?" Ford asked nodding towards the cigarette. It had been years since he's had an honest to God Earth cigarette. He had been more of a social smoker in college and always thought a drink tasted better with a cigarette.

Rick made a face of surprise that seemed to communicate how charmed he was that the seemingly straight laced Ford was a dirty smoker like him. He shook out another cigarette and handed it to Ford. When Ford put it in his mouth, Rick made a show of patting himself down looking for his lighter. At last, he shrugged in a mock show of resignation. He put his hand on Ford's jaw, just below his ear and pulled him close. Rick touched the cherry of his cigarette to the tip of Ford's own and inhaled, making the tips glow together. The soft hiss of catching paper and tobacco was the only sound between them. Rick's eye flicked up only momentarily to catch Ford's own.

Ford was up on his tiptoes as Rick held his jaw. His hands braced on Rick's knees to keep himself steady. His body was forced into this unnatural position and he liked it. He felt himself give up the power to the other man and it felt good. Freeing. 

Rick knew it was a cheap tactic, desperate even. But right now Rick wanted to blow off some steam in the worst way and Ford's propensity to react to Rick's more outrageous antics amused Rick to no end. Rick pulled back just a bit, removed his cigarette from his mouth and exhaled. His teeth glinted through the smoke.

"There's a grade A Dutch kiss for ya, Spock..." He smiled. 

"More kissing? I dare say you may have an oral fixation, Rick Sanchez. " Ford retorted, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. He let Rick hold him in place. His back arched slightly and a flush powdered his face, whether from the alcohol or the forwardness of the other man he wasn't sure.

"You better believe it." Rick replied through a satisfied sneer. The tension in the air was palpable and he was unashamedly going to ride the wave. Ford reached up and took a drag of the cigarette before plucking it from his lips. He blew the smoke down and away from Rick's face as the hand holding the cigarette leaned against the counter. The other hand slid up Rick's thigh.

"Show me." He said softly. His eyes flicked between the tall man's lips and his eyes.

That was all the coaxing Rick needed. He flicked his cigarette into the sink and, taking Ford's face into his hands, kissed the man hard. His teeth clattered against Ford's own as their mouths crashed together. His tongue came out hungrily, sliding into Ford's mouth. He pulled hard, making Ford stumble from his tiptoes and come directly in front of him. Ford settled into the hollow between Rick's legs and Rick tilted his head down to kiss Ford deeper. 

Ford kissed back, his tongue sliding against Rick's. He moaned softly. One hand slid up Rick's thigh and the other went to the other man's leather-clad back. Rick tasted like cigarettes and ginger and fruit. He moaned into Rick's mouth. This was the stress relief he had been looking for. Rick slid his hands from Ford's face around to the back of his head. He tangled his fingers into Ford's hair, mussing it. He breathed in as Ford breathed out and white hot lust rang through him, almost numbing in its ferocity.

At last, he broke the kiss, pushing Ford away to jump down and swap places with the man. He held Ford's hips and pushed him back against the table. The next kiss was hard but short. Rick stared greedily into Ford's face, telegraphing unspeakable desire with every inch of himself. He moved in, pressing their bodies together and spoke in Ford's ear.

"Just don't get ash in my hair." He said before moving down onto his knees before Ford. 

Ford felt breathless after those kisses. The measured want and lust were intoxicating and the way Rick casually got on his knees was nothing short of erotic. He ashed the cigarette in the sink and placed it between his lips. He tried to act confident as he reached down and unbuttoned then unzipped his pants. He pulled them down to expose his pubic hair and stopped. Ford had given up undergarments a year or so earlier. They restricted his movements and was just more clothing to wash. Leaning back against the counter, he took a drag from the cigarette and smiled as he waited for Rick to make the next move.

Rick did not look back up at Ford but rather studied the skin peeking out at him. He scraped his teeth over Ford's hip bone, following it with a swipe of his tongue. He slid his hands back and across Ford's hips, fingers slipping into the edge of the pants. His deft fingers reached down, pushing the pants down just so around his hips, and Rick's palms slipped along the globes of Ford's buttocks, where they gently squeezed. Rick wondered how far down that tattoo went and if someone could read tattoo ink like braille. He brushed his nose through the coarse hair at the base of Ford's still confined manhood and enjoyed the warm musky scent he found there. He looked up at Ford with half-lidded eyes and a serpentine smile.

"Did you drive the other Stanford crazy like this?" Ford asked, his hips jerking as Rick teased over his skin. His eyes were dilated with need and his free hand was gripping the edge of the counter as he brought the cigarette back to his mouth. He took a deep drag and held it there a moment to enjoy the burn in his lungs.

"I don't think he would've let me." Rick pressed his smile into the soft, tantalizing skin, breathing in that scent of sweat and want. His tongue tasted the flesh there. He squeezed Ford's ass again, gently spreading his cheeks as he kneaded the supple flesh. 

"I wish I knew his secret..." Ford moaned and fought the urge to grind his crotch against Rick's face. The cigarette ashed into the sink forgotten between his fingers. He leaned his head back and moaned as Rick teased his ass cheeks. "Oh, Rick... please."

Rick pulled Ford's cock from his pants and held it firmly by the base. He looked up at Ford. When he spoke he made sure his hot breath ghosted over the sensitive skin.

"Say that again and I just might." He told Ford. The sarcasm was in his voice but not front and center. Ford looked down at the man on his knees. If he hadn't been hard already that sight would have done the job. Those long fingers felt amazing on his overheated skin. 

"Please, Rick..." He moaned softly. Rick tried to keep his eyes from going too wide at that. His own cock throbbed softly in his pants, already half hard. He was half joking but this guy had taken it seriously. Rick would be lying if he said that pleading wasn't a little hot. Something about smart people having to turn off their 'big noggins' passed through his mind. When had Rick heard that before? 

He pushed it out of his mind and instead focused on his work. Rick licked his lips and, starting at the base, brushed them up the side of Ford's cock. When he reached the tip he opened his mouth and slid the head into the hot cavern of his mouth. It sat on Rick's tongue heavily and he sucked experimentally on it, soft at first and then a little more firm, to gauge Ford's reaction. Rick seemed to have a thing for getting Ford to react.

"Yes..." Ford moaned. The image of his cock sliding between those lips was more than he thought he could handle. He had known those lips were meant to sin. He let go of the counter and cradled the back of Rick's head, threading his fingers into that soft blue hair. He moaned again and took a drag from the quickly dying cigarette.

Rick made an approving noise that sent vibrations through the sensitive member. He curled his lips over his teeth and pushed down onto Ford's cock. He pumped his mouth over the soft flesh a few minutes, opening his throat more, reaching further down with each pass. Soon, Rick had near every inch of Ford in his talented mouth. Ford wanted to see an oral fixation? Rick was only more than happy to oblige. In fact, Rick cloud say he was pretty damn proud of his oral sex prowess. It wasn't something one could put on a resume, but Rick had given a lot of head and no one, male female or otherwise, had complained yet.

"Your mouth feels so good." moaned the author as he pulled a bit harder on Rick's hair. "Ooh, your tongue...Aahh." 

Stanley always told him he was too loud but Ford couldn't help it. His brain was always working and he needed to get it out some way. His hips twitched and he wanted to thrust but he was fighting the urge. He took the last drag from his cigarette and tossed the butt into the sink.

Rick saw and felt Ford's hips leaning forward, subconsciously seeking more of Rick's mouth. He took hold of them, thumbs pressing into his hip bones and pushed them back into the work table, only semi softly. The suture kit jingled quietly as the table bumped. He pulled all the way back up to the top, slurping obscenely. Rick sucked the head hard a moment before removing his mouth with an audible pop. He looked up at Ford and was pleased to see the plume of cigarette smoke come out in Ford's stricken sigh. Rick swirled his tongue around the tip, then concentrating on the elastic band of tissue on the underside. He knew from plenty of research, both theoretical and practical, that that part was particularly sensitive. Ford's thighs shook. This was beyond anything he'd had done to him before.

"Ah...yes! You're going to make me orgasm, Rick." the feeling of those fingers was amazing on his hips. Both his hands were in Rick's hair and his head tilted back. Ford moaned low and deep.

Rick was tempted to finish Ford off then and there. His philosophy for oral sex was somewhere in the ballpark of "show up on time and stay until the job is done" but there was something nagging at his mind. One could almost call it a theory that needed testing. 

Rick stood and took Ford's chin in his hand. His other hand took Ford's balls and pushed them back gently in their socket. He spoke a breath away from Ford's lips.

"No you're not. You're not going to come until I say you can come." His tone was not harsh, just antiseptic; low and matter of fact. He licked his swollen lips and searched Ford's face for a response. 

The first feeling that rose up in Ford was defiance but that look on Rick's face and the grip on his own jaw squashed that feeling almost instantly. Not to mention the pressure on his balls but it didn't feel threatening. It was authoritative and demanding of respect. 

Ford had eschewed religion years ago but he suddenly remembered the old lady that lived down the street from him when he was growing up. She had called Ford a demon when she saw his hands. She'd yell from her stoop that the devil would come and take him away. Stanley had thrown rocks at her house and Stanford learned to ignore her but now as he saw that dark look on the other man's face, he almost believed. If this was how it was going to be, he was happy to go. 

"I understand." He said low, a little defiance seeped in underneath his words. He kept constant eye contact. He twined his twelve fingers deeper into Rick's hair, tugging as a slight sign of noncompliance. Rick bit his lip a moment just watching Ford. Rick was darkly delighted that his suspicions were true. Despite his own admitted trust issues, Ford wanted to be dominated. 

Any given person was, more often than not, less complicated than people (Rick did not consider himself 'people') gave them credit for. Whatever someone came off as in daily life, nine times out of ten, they were into the opposite in the bedroom. Made sense really. Ford seemed to be the master of his own destiny, whether by choice or design Rick didn't know. Of course he'd like a chance to let someone else be in charge occasionally. Or maybe he had gotten diddled as a kid and now he was all kinds of fucked up. Rick had no way of telling. Whatever the reason might have been, it was not out of Rick's comfort zone to do what needed doing. It wasn't the first time he had been in a similar situation, as giver or receiver (who didn't like to get spit on from time to time?) and he was certain it wouldn't be his last.

"You're going to go ahead and let me drive for a while, huh Stanford." It was not presented as a question but Rick waited for an answer. Ford paused not wanting to seem too eager. He nodded shortly. Up, down, center.

"That's all I needed to know." Rick said calmly. Suddenly, he grabbed both of Ford's hands, pulling them from his hair. He gracefully spun Ford around and placed one hand in the middle of Ford's back to push, simultaneously kicking his legs apart. The momentum of the move caused Ford to pitch over the work desk. Rick's free hand cushioned the landing for Ford's injured shoulder but the rest of Ford's torso hit the table solidly, his stomach pressed into the table's edge. Ford's glasses went askew on his face when his cheek hit the rough wood. Rick's forgotten glass tipped over and the drink inside dribbled off the edge and onto the floor.

The spreading of his legs had caused Ford's pants to fall down around his ankles, pooling around his boots and leaving him exposed to the air. While the tattoo did not continue down Ford's behind and legs as Rick had wondered if it had, the bottom point of the triangle came to its vertex at the cleft of Ford's buttocks. It drew the eye downward to the full supple curves that were currently pushed out on display.

Rick's right hand sat on the circle of uninked flesh at the middle of Ford's back. The left had traveled down to Ford's wrist, holding it straight out behind him. Rick's crotch was not yet touching Ford's bare ass, but it was close. The maneuver had been incredibly quick. One, two, three and Ford was caught in a hold of his own.

"How long has it been since you've been fucked in the ass?" Rick purred. That question didn't sit well with Ford. He blushed and bit his tongue, refusing to answer, pressing his face against the counter as his lips formed a tight line. He genuinely liked the treatment he was receiving but his dignity was too important to him to answer that question.

"Come on now, honesty hour." Rick chided. He waited a beat "...Or I could just go. My shirt's still wet but s'okay. A walk in the open air will fix that..."

Rick reached up, freeing Ford's arm and grabbed at his shirt. He squeezed it into his fist, water dripping down his wrist and into his sleeve. Rick's still smoldering cigarette hissed as the water fell into the sink.

"No!" Ford's hand shot out and grabbed Rick's skinny wrist. He looked over his undamaged shoulder at the other man.

"High school." He said almost desperately. "I haven't done...that since high school." he was blushing hard.

Rick let go of his shirt. He looked into Ford's eyes as if he was searching for something. He bit his lip thoughtfully then the end twitched up as something occurred to him. He shook his hand free.

"It was your brother, wasn't it?" He asked with a smug kind of knowing in his voice.

Ford's eyes were wide in surprise. Underneath it, a little fear thrummed. Could he really have been sent by Bill? Only three people knew about that. Bill, Stanley and himself. 

"Yes. How could you know?" He asked quietly. Then it came to him but it didn't seem to make sense. "The other Stanford?" 

The equation wasn't adding up. A man that picked up strangers for wild weekends of sex and drugs and who wore his secrets on his sleeve sounded more like Stanley than himself. The Author tried to move away from the counter, pushing up on his elbow and twisting slightly at the waist. Rick shoved Ford back down. He pressed his crotch against Ford's ass to keep him there.

Ford leaned against the counter still puzzling this all out. Could it be possible that this other Stanford was actually Stanley? Rick knew they were brothers but perhaps he didn't know they were twins. His train of thought was derailed as he felt Rick grind his clothed erection against his ass. He moaned softly and his hips pushed back reflexively.

"You got it." He said, shaking his head in an unbelieving way. "Turns out no matter what dimension you from, your tastes don't really change. I'll tell you what I told him. There's way too much in the multiverse to subscribe to bullshit social norms. Don't get your nuts in a bunch."

Rick could sense he may have struck a nerve and not a good one at that. So the brotherly love had ended poorly for this Stanford too. He brushed his wet fingers down Ford's neck in the closest way he could to being soothing.

"I sure know how to take the air out of the room, huh? Look, did you want to do this or not? Cause if so, saying so is gonna be the last decision you get to make. After that I'm the king, the Kwisatz Haderach, Captain fuckin' Kirk, ok egghead?" Rick put it in terms that had seemed to resonate with Ford, based upon everything he had see in the room. He waited, anticipation biting at him. If Rick was being honest, his dick was aching in his jeans, screaming to get to the good part. But a combination of his stubbornness and his need to see how this all played out kept him at bay. Ford was quiet for a moment. But it was just a moment. 

"If I wanted to stop you I would have. Even wounded and with my pants around my ankles." He said it a bit haughtily but made no move to pull away.

Rick smiled unashamedly at that. He carded his fingers through Ford's hair, tangling them into the roots. He didn't pull but held on, a sign of control. His other hand slid over Ford's flesh, around his hip to run up and down the front of his thigh.

He ground his crotch against Ford's ass for good measure and slipped his fingers over the dip of Ford's pelvis. He held Ford's cock by the base lightly but did not move. The man had had enough time to come back down from near orgasm but was still visibly aroused.

Ford moaned softly. The return of Rick's hand on his member was very welcome but he needed more. He pushed his hips back against the other man. His pants felt too restrictive and as he shifted back he almost lost his balance. Rick noted this sourly. He held Ford a moment longer before stepping back and sitting on one of the barstools. He cocked a boot up onto the foot rail and crossed his arms, affecting a cowboy posture. He watched Ford like a hawk.

"Alright then. Lose that shit." He said. 

"I think you like being assertive." Ford straightened and looked at Rick as he toed off each boot. He smiled slightly and shucked off his pants. The Author fastidiously folded his trousers and stood bare before Rick. Feeling bold, Ford slipped between Rick's splayed legs. Rick's hands came down instinctively on Ford's hips. Ford dipped his head to kiss the long neck of the other man. Rick rubbed his hands over Ford's buttocks a moment before he slapped one cheek smartly. 

"God, what a tight little ass. I could go out for coffee and it'd still be jiggling when I came back." Rick chuckled. The needy sound that came out of Ford's mouth shocked himself. When did he become so subservient? This man who had fallen into his life was breaking down every little ounce of his ego and rebuilding him into something else.

"This isn't like me." Ford said quietly, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. His heart was thudding in his chest and he just wanted Rick to do that to him again. Rick could stand on pretense only so long, and all of Ford's mewling was incredibly hot. He was sick and tired of all this pussy footing around. He stood, invading Ford's space but not daring to touch the man's bare skin. He radiated power. Ford bit his lower lip as his face flushed. He looked up at the taller man and the power he exuded was intoxicating.

Rick took Ford's throat in his hand, not squeezing and barely even hard for that matter. It was important to Rick that his physical presence did not overshadow the authority of his attitude. That was where the major difference in domination and masochism occurred and where plenty of people screwed it up. Ford didn't want the shit kicked out of him. That was easy and Rick could have supplied it if asked. What Ford wanted was someone to take his emotional reigns and steer him to a place where he had permission to let go fully.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you." He said calmly. That long-fingered hand on his throat had Ford almost vibrating with want. A soft moan slipped past Ford's lips as he looked up into the other man's eyes. The words came out in such a rush but it was like someone had lifted a boulder off of him.

"I want to feel your hands on me. I want you to kiss me so hard it bruises. I want your marks on me. I want you to-" The word caught on his tongue. It was so rough and uncouth and he didn't often like to say it but he knew it was what Rick wanted to hear. "f-fuck me." 

Rick pulled Ford toward his lips, making the man have to stand on his tiptoes. Ford's mouth was a breath away when Rick spoke in a voice smooth and rich like buttery leather.

"Then ask. Nice."

"Please," Ford breathed against those tempting lips. He was desperate and begging. More needy and hard than he'd ever been before. "Please take your clothes off and fuck me. Please mark me. Please use me."

Rick kissed Ford hard, more teeth than mouth. He let go of Ford's throat and followed him down as he went flat footed. He continued to kiss hungrily and took Ford's hands, putting them on his coat's zipper, a silent command. Ford kissed back hungrily and his deft fingers reached out to unzip Rick's jacket. Ford tasted light and sweet and when Rick pulled away he was delighted to see Ford's tongue peek out a moment, chasing Rick's own. 

Rick bit down on the junction of Ford's neck and shoulder and sucked greedily at the flesh. To the outside observer, the scene might have looked like a vampire feeding on a mesmerized victim, a baroque painting run through an iconoclastic grunge filter. Rick removed his mouth, licking over the red mark that was fading into being there like a dark room photograph. He appreciated his work before diving back in to kiss along the shell of Ford's ear and suck his earlobe into his mouth.

Ford slid his hands inside Rick's coat and the feel of that hot soft skin against his palms was amazing. He moaned as he slid his hands up the thin chest and over the shoulders so he could push the jacket off. It hit the floor with a soft thud. Rick kissed Ford's jawline a moment and moaned hotly in his ear as a finger brushed over one of his nipples.

"On your knees." He told Ford. When he did as he was told, Rick put one of his thick Doc Marten boots on Ford's uninjured shoulder.

"Chop chop, beautiful. I can't fuck you with these waffle stompers on." Rick stopped, considered his words and continued  "Well I could. Maybe later."

The laces slid free in Ford's hands. He loosened the strings and worked the boot free from the other man's foot. He half smiled up at Rick as he worked his hand up the calf, massaging the muscle there as he pulled off the socks and moved to the next boot. Rick placed it on Ford's injured shoulder, as lightly as he could. If there was any pain in Ford's expression it scarcely dampened the lust taking center stage there. Once the other boot was disposed of, Ford rested his head against Rick's knee. 

"You like me on my knees, don't you?"

Rick nodded, biting his lip. He dropped his foot from Ford's shoulder and brushed his nicotine-stained yet strangely elegant fingers along Ford's jaw, feeling the satisfying scrape of the beginnings of five o'clock shadow. Ford tilted his face into those long fingers and peered over the top of his glasses with a hint of anticipation.

He gently took Rick's thin wrist into his big hand and lifted it to his lips. Ford didn't break eye contact as he first kissed the other man's palm then over the fluttering pulse at the wrist near his own fingers, his head angled ever so slightly so that Rick's fingertips grazed the side of his face. Gracefully flipping the hand over, he kissed the back of the other man's hand. Ford gave Rick a smoldering look before closing his eyes and moaning, kissing down the knuckles to his companion's fingertips. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled.

Rick took Ford's hands and laid them on his belt. He smiled down at Ford indulgently and rubbed the bulge in jeans. Ford leaned forward and licked over the patch of hair that trailed from Rick's navel down into his pants. His hands pulled the belt free then slid down to gently kneed at the hard bulge he found there. Rick's moan trailed off into a laugh. 

"If you don't get this show on the goddamn road, you fuckin' tease, you can jerk off alone." He said. There was a glint in his eye that said the threat was not an empty one. Ford unbuttoned and unzipped Rick's pants as his mouth moved over the sharp hip bone. His fingers slid under the waistband of both Rick's pants and briefs and pulled them down. Rick's cock bobbed out as it was freed. 

"Yes sir." He smirked and took the head of the tall man's cock in his mouth. Rick shuddered, giving a drawn out groan. He laced his fingers into Ford's hair. He pushed down on Ford's head, forcing his cock further into Ford's mouth. Opening his throat, Ford sucked hard letting Rick fuck his mouth. The way Rick used him and the hard slick shaft sliding between his lips was decadent. His hands gripped those skinny hips as they pistoned.

Rick continued to thrust, the preempted desire he had been barely keeping in check set loose upon Ford. He tipped his head, rolling it against his shoulders and breath hitching. He clenched his jaw, growling through his teeth. He was going to come and embarrassingly fast if he kept it up at this rate. He pulled himself from Ford's mouth, savoring the sight of the thread of saliva hanging between Ford's lower lip and the head of his cock. Ford's glasses were askew on his face.

"Time to bite a pillow, sweetie. Now march." He ordered. 

Ford reached up and fixed his glasses before wiping the saliva off his chin. He caught his breath as he stood. He slid a hand behind Rick's neck and leaned close.

"You'd rather have me bite a pillow than hear me scream? I'm surprised." He pushed away from Rick and walked to his bedroll. Ford licked his lips as he sat back on the bedroll with his legs slightly spread.

Having spent a considerable amount of time with a Stanford Pines, Rick knew he had a smart mouth and he shouldn't have been surprised. Nevertheless, he did his best to pick his jaw up off the floor, shove his pants off and not flat out scurry after Ford. He pounced on the other man, kissing and rutting desperately. He pawed at Ford, wanting to feel every inch of skin. He hooked his first two fingers into Ford's mouth.

"I know you can suck..." He prompted. Rick dipped his head and swirled his tongue over Ford's nipple. Ford moaned around the fingers in his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue around the digits as he grabbed Rick's hips and ground against him desperately, his back arching slightly.

Rick pulled his fingers free and repossessed himself between Ford's legs. He took hold of Ford's thigh, bending it back to expose the tight ring of Ford's hole. He leered at Ford and touched his fingers there. Ford's breath caught in his throat and he gripped the blankets under his hands. It had been a long time since anyone had done that to him but he was burning with need. 

"Do it." He moaned spreading his legs wider. Rick pressed one finger inside. Ford gave a hiss of pleasure and Rick relished the sound. He twitched his finger experimentally. Slowly he pushed in up to the knuckle. Tossing Ford's leg over his shoulder, Rick spit in his palm and wrapped his free hand around Ford's dick and pumped to act as distraction from the second finger he pushed in. He scissored his fingers, gently stretching the resisting muscle.

"Christ, you're tight..." He purred. He twisted his hand over Ford's member and leaned in to kiss Ford, muffling his moans.

"I told you... it's been since high school." Ford moaned between kisses. His big hands slid up Rick's back and into his blue hair. "Ah! There! Oh yes!" He sighed. He kissed back hard, sliding his tongue against Rick's hungrily.

Rick flicked his fingers over that same spot and leaned into Ford's twisting, holding him down as another stricken moan wracked him. He blindly bucked, rubbing his needy length against Ford's inner thigh, searching for relief.

"Rick, please!" Ford pleaded. His cock was dripping precum and he let go of Rick. His hands fisted in the blankets above his head and he moaned loud and low. "Rick! I need -" He panted and rolled his hips into Rick's fingers.

"Say it! Say it, motherfucker!" Rick barked.

"Fuck me! Please, Rick! Fuck me!" Ford moaned, looking up at Rick with lust veiled eyes.

Rick all but tripped over himself as he got back up onto his knees. He took his cock in hand and spit on it, coating it thickly. He tucked one arm under Ford's leg and guided himself to Ford's hole. He pushed just the head in before grabbing Ford's other leg with his now free hand and pulling the man onto his cock. The wave of anticipation that had been building steadily until now crashed over Rick and his whole body shook with desire.

"Yes...!" He moaned in a long drawn out shout.

"Ah!" Ford's back arched as Rick pushed inside of him. His hands pulled at the blanket. His teeth gritted as he became accustomed to the feeling of fullness. It had been so long but he forgot how good it felt. Once he got his breath back he looked up at Rick. "Don't stop..."

Rick rolled his hips hard. He dug his fingers into the giving muscle of Ford's thighs and dropped his chin to his chest as he growled his satisfaction. His breathing hitched and the sweat began to break out at his temples with his effort. One of Ford's big hands unwrapped from the blanket above his head and slid his hand down Rick's chest. His large thumb rubbed and teased the nipple his fingers found. He looked up at the man inside him and moaned.

"God, you feel so good. Ooh, you're filling me up!"

Rick draped Ford's legs around his waist and bore as hard as could into the man beneath him. He grabbed Ford's free hand and pinned it with his brother above Ford's head, palms touching palms, five fingers twinning through six. That move changed that angle and Rick was now fully laying on top of Ford, looking though straining eyes down at him. Ford thrashed and panted and for the life of him, Rick could see nothing but Stanford, his Stanford. The Stanford Rick had danced and drank and laughed with, the Stanford he had wanted to show the universe, the Stanford that he had utterly fucked over. Frustration flared up in Rick, warring with his desire. He screwed his eyes shut and perhaps as an alternative to turning that frustration inward, Rick turned it on Ford, thrusting hard and deliberately. 

"Fuck yes! Take it! Tell me what you want!" He demanded.

"Ooh yes!" Ford wrapped his legs around Rick's skinny hips and tried to pull him deeper. "I want you to control me! I want you inside me! Ah! I want you to fill me!" 

Ford gripped the hands in his but the fingers were too skinny and unscuffed by boxing practice. He threw his head back and moaned long and low as Rick nailed that spot inside him. His eyes slid shut as he thought of the last time someone had been in him like this. The way Stanley looked at him when they were together was pure and beautiful and he had felt so wrapped up in love. Stanley would whisper into his ear about how good Ford felt and how he'd never leave him between kisses to quiet Ford so Ma and Pop wouldn't hear. It had been perfect.

"St-sta..."He started but the name caught in his throat as he heard Rick moan. He opened his eyes and saw that blue hair and an angular slim frame. "Touch me! Please Rick, touch me!" He moaned as he forced himself into the here and now.

Rick pressed his face into the bedroll, heaving labored breaths into Ford's ear. He repeatedly moaned "Fuck... fuck...fuck..." under his breath, like a mantra or perhaps some kind of unbelieving curse. He thrust mindlessly, using his whole body to hold Ford down. He was coming undone, but stuck to his guns, leaning into the domineering behavior that Ford was looking for.

"Touch you where...how... Say the words. I want to hear them coming out of your stuck up little mouth. Convince me, you filthy fuckin..." He panted and trailed off into an animalistic moan. He wormed one arm under Ford's neck, putting him into some bastardized cross between an embrace and a headlock. He touched his forehead to Ford's temple.

"Please Rick, touch my cock." The filthy word slipped past his lips before he could stop it but at this point Ford couldn't care less. He was consumed by this man in a way he hadn't been in years. His body burning with want so thick and cloying he could taste it. He liberated hand went into Rick's wild hair and he moaned into his ear. "Stroke my cock! Please! Please make me cum for you! I want to cum for you! Rick! Please!"

Rick was only too happy to oblige. He let go of Ford's hand and shifted his weight to make room for his hand to snake between their bodies. The new angle set Rick into a greater plateau of pleasure, where it was almost painful. If he hadn't been so concerned with the task at hand Rick might have wondered about the state of Ford's stitches. If all this manhandling was causing Ford any discomfort he wasn't showing it and that was good enough for Rick. 

He wrapped his long fingers around Ford's length and pumped mercilessly, trying to focus on matching the rhythms of his hand and hips. 

Ford was thrusting into his moves and moaning raggedly. Ford wrapped his free arm around Rick's shoulders which gave him more leverage. He rode out each thrust and tried to push back as best he could, needy moans escaping him. The ache in his shoulder added a certain depth to his pleasure he'd never felt before and Rick's long fingers felt amazing on his cock.

"Fuck, you're a goddamn screamer!" Rick grunted, taunting "It feels real good when you fuck me back like that."

"Yes! Rick! Harder! So close!" Ford tilted his head back and keened in absolute ecstasy. 

At that, Rick stopped his thrusts abruptly. His right knee came up, catching Ford's thigh and lifting his leg into the air. With the weight of his body resting on Ford's left side, Rick planted the balls of his feet on the floor through the thin bedroll and braced himself, depriving Ford of any leverage he had. It was a pin that Rick could have derisively called 'Greco Roman'. He held Ford's cock in a hard grip and lifted his head to look into the other man's face. He fought Ford's struggles.

"What are you doing?!" Ford asked. He was aching and needy. He struggled against the grip the other had on him. "Don't stop! God, don't stop, please!" He begged.

Rick fixed Ford with a look that could shatter glass. Ford was clenching around Rick's cock and Rick trembled with urgency but he had a point to make. Rick needed Ford to know he was not just having an orgasm, but instead that Rick was giving him one. That he was in control of that.

"You don't come without my say." Rick instructed. His voice was authoritative but hoarse with want. "So before you do, you're going to have to ask permission."

Rick relaxed his restraining hold on Ford and picked up his previous punishing rhythm. He stroked Ford hard and pressed his nose into Ford's cheek.

"'Please may I come, Rick? Pretty please, Rick, will you please let me fucking jizz into your hand?'" he puffed the sardonic example into the flushed sweating skin. He was frantic now, thrusts wild and fitful. He was panting and growling and red lights, like those of a motel vacancy sign years and dimensions away, flashed behind his tightly shut eyes.

Ford pressed his face against Rick's and almost screamed as Rick started to move again. Every inch of his body tensed and he felt his eyes roll back. 

"Please! Rick, let me come in your hand! May I come, Rick?!" He begged as he dug his nails into the small of Rick's back.

"Wait..."  Rick hissed. It was aware and tense like a general holding his soldiers in formation as they bristled to charge the enemy. Ford could feel Rick's smile on his skin. Ford was almost frantic but also amazed his body was reacting this way. He had been about to step off the edge into bliss but one word from Rick had tethered him away from his release. The author turned his head, his nose bumping against Rick's gently and their lips almost touching.

"May I please fucking cum, Rick?" He moaned softly, embarrassed and turned on by his words. "Please. Pretty please may I jizz in your hand, Rick?" He licked his lips, his tongue brushing against Rick's lips. "And please cum inside me. I want to feel you twitch and throb when you fill me up."

Rick couldn't keep up the game anymore and he was certain Ford would shatter into a million pieces if he pushed his luck one more time. 

"Alright...alright...Now! Come for me, baby! Fuck...!" Rick heaved, the words becoming strangled as his own orgasm crested. His head throbbed with the effort, every synapse in his brain shorting out momentarily leaving nothing but the hard wanting lust that ran his lower self; his reptilian brain. He shouted his climax, thrusting hard even as it peaked.

Ford's whole body arched as he came, moaning loud and long as his body shook and his shoulder ached, his sweating forehead pressed to Rick's. It was almost an out of body experience. He could see himself under Rick, his hands clutching at the other man and pleasure written on his face. Drowning in the ocean of pleasure; lost but for the lifeline that was this man he clung to as his ship left him behind so long ago.

Rick gave a few more short hard thrusts, hitting Ford's overstimulated prostate and enjoying the sighing yelps of pleasure it earned him. At last, he rolled over falling into the narrow gap between Ford and the wall. His chest seized with his hard breath as he began to wind down.

The late afternoon had petered into early evening and orange bands of dusk sunlight were crawling across the floor and over Ford's spent body. Rick watched the man a moment. He had never seen his Stanford in the light of day before. He wondered if it would look anything like this then admonished himself. Of course Stan would look like this. This was Stan, no matter what he preferred to be called. Rick threw his forearm over his eyes, breath at last becoming calmer.

The cool air against Ford's too heated skin felt amazing as Rick rolled off him. There was a cool breeze that helped the sweat evaporate from his body as he caught his breath. They lay in comfortable silence. The bottle wind chime tinkled quietly and their colors made the room almost whimsical. Ford turned and looked at the other man. The way Rick was laying, with his eyes covered and blocking out the light, made it look like he was sleeping but Ford could see the gentle up and down of his chest wasn't slow enough for actual sleep. 

"You'll have to check the stitches to make sure we didn't pull any." He said after a moment. Rick heard Ford but didn't respond right away. Maybe it was because he didn't want to look at the man who kept reminding him of his mistakes or maybe he just didn't want to get sunlight in his eyes. But he couldn't deny that Ford had a point. He was a selfish man but Rick wouldn't fuck a man then leave him to bleed out of the stitches he had ripped.

"Yeah," He sighed not moving or uncovering his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Go ahead and sit up."

With a great effort, Rick sat up himself and struggled to get fully upright on his rubbery legs. Ford pushed himself up with a groan. He had hoped he hadn't killed whatever mood they had going. His shoulder hurt but he had taken enough painkillers. He watched Rick move about the room.

Rick staggered across to the sink and rinsed the cum from his hands. Almost as an afterthought, he snatched the half-empty bottle of sweet water booze from the counter. He returned to the bedroll to sit cross-legged behind Ford.

Rick swigged from the bottle, sweet water dripping down his chin then handed the bottle forward for Ford to take. He peeled back the bandages to check the damage. He hoped he hadn't been too hasty with his work.

"I wish he had just shot you." Rick grumbled. Ford huffed a laugh and accepted the bottle. 

"It would have been easier to clean up but it might also have been more deadly." He sipped from the bottle and thought about those fingers as they touched him. "How long have you played guitar?" He asked after a moment.

Rick was about to say something about the inefficiency of laser guns, how if they didn't hit any major organs they usually just went through the meat and cauterized themselves and when did we all decide we were too good for bullets anyway but he was taken aback by Ford's observation. If he was honest, Rick's post coital mind was still pretty addled but Ford was already as sharp as a tack after the utter beastfucking Rick had just given him. That was impressive. He touched gingerly at each of the stitches, checking for inconsistencies in his work. 

"I, uh, it's been a while. Since high school." Rick answered. He chuckled callously. "Something I've kept doing since then. Unlike you and that tight little ass."

Ford blushed all over. "I learned to play guitar in college." He explained quickly, perhaps trying to steer the conversation elsewhere "My roommate played the banjo and wanted someone to play with so I decided to learn." He took a sip from the bottle and passed it back to Rick. Rick took the bottle and drank.

"Shame we don't have a pair now. We could jam. I mean, we already know we make sweet music together but it'd pass the time." Rick was aware the line was bad but he couldn't seem to help himself. He wondered that if he didn't think about it too much could he perhaps pick up here where his last weekend with a Stanford left off. He passed the bottle back and reapplied the bandage. "Looks fine to me. Clean bill of health. Now turn your head and cough."

"I'm going to make the assumption that we don't dabble in the same genre of music. 'Jamming' might not work too well for us." Ford placed the bottle on the floor within arm's reach and slowly and carefully laid himself down on the mat. He left enough room for Rick as a silent offer to stay. He pushed down the blanket as he lay down but made no move to cover himself. "Beside the fact, I've been through a lot today and my body needs rest."

Rick noted that Ford didn't respond to any of his post coital jokes. Yeah they were bad, but Rick always thought once you fucked a guy, especially one you hardly knew, keeping the mood light was essential. He had expected a chuckle or, even better, to be playfully called out for the silly lines. Ford was either ignoring Rick or was really just that much of a stick in the mud. Score another point for Oregon Stanford.

Ford laid on his side and looked up at Rick in a contemplative way. He had a theory. He wanted to test it before he fell asleep. Scientific proof was his favorite of lullabies. 

"Tell me about the other Stanford. I haven't met any others yet. I was starting to think I was the only one."

Rick was somewhat nonplussed by that particular topic of conversation but afterglow had a way of softening his resolve. He reached over Ford to take the bottle then settled in to sit with his back against the brick wall. He didn't dare lay down with Ford. He was emotionally pliable after sex but always guarded. He propped his arm up on a bent knee and nursed the drink.

"S'probably for the best. You start meeting your other selves and things start getting... organized." Rick said that word with a nasty distaste. He contemplated a council of Stanfords and if the majority were like this one, it could be buzzkill central. He took another swig from the bottle, wanting to get some alcohol in his system. He might have picked up his flask but the stuff in the bottle was much weaker and Rick didn't know if his stomach could take it right now. Rick gathered his thoughts a moment.

"He wasn't a genius, that's for sure. Don't look at me like that. There are plenty of Ricks that're as dumb as a post. There aren't hard and fast rules to this. Sometimes it's a one to one thing, sometimes you're a fish monster with gills in your asshole. I mean, I don't know you that well, hell I didn't know him that well, so do with all this what you want. He had a gut. Ran a taxidermy museum in the middle of nowhere. Even that seemed to overwhelm him. I don't really know what you want me to say. He was... sincere. And pretty fucking passionate. Didn't believe in himself for shit though."

"Was he a boxer?" Ford asked quietly. There was a pit in his stomach but he had to know. Rick looked down at Ford. Ford was not looking back and was wearing a cryptic expression.

"Yeah actually. Said he used to be semi-pro." Rick replied "But we were in a bar and he was trying to get in my pants, so that could have been a bunch of bullshit. He had big arms though. Hugged like a black bear..."

Rick finished off the bottle and tossed it aside. It gave a plastic rat-a-tat on the floorboards then came to a stop. He shuffled back into the corner and got comfortable in the crook of the wall. 

"See a correlation? You look like a featherweight at best." He asked.

A sharp spike of jealousy went through Ford's chest. It was his Stanley. Not truly his, he had to admit. Stanley had ruined his future and Ford had pushed him away. He pushed the feeling down and marked it off as irrational. Though he couldn't quite push down the melancholy. 

"My father put me into boxing classes when I was a child. I was adequate but I preferred science. Perhaps the Stanford you met preferred boxing. It's nice to know I could have made it that far if I wanted to though." Ford lied. It was irrational to want to keep this secret but it was his. He looked over at Rick. "You don't have to sleep in the corner." He said simply before rolling over on his side and turning his back to Rick. He pulled up the blankets and tried not to stew in his own thoughts as he fell asleep.

"I'm not." Rick defended weakly "And correlation doesn't mean causation. You of all people should know that. Just because you both boxed doesn't mean you'd go pro. Remember, it was me who got us out of that scrape back there."

Rick had hoped that comment would reward him with a smart comeback and perhaps steer the conversation to something more lively. When it elicited no response, Rick had to remind himself that this Stanford didn't have the sense of humor his rough counterpart did.

Rick sat there, with his thoughts. He pulled one of the pillows into his lap, suddenly feeling very aware of his nakedness. He didn't know if he should stay or go. This was nothing like the last time he had slept with Stan. He figured it should have been a little similar, if not in the sex than at least in the comradery afterward. The more logical part of Rick scolded him for that. Just because both of the men were, in fact, the same man did not mean that the easy rapport would be implied. Correlation did not mean causation. 

Rick should leave. That's what you did after one night stands like this. It was the obvious path this version of sex with Stanford should take. He had had real chemistry with that man in Oregon and stayed the weekend because of it. This time around, the magnetism was purely animal. There'd be no shame in Rick's standard practice of the quick and painless exit.

On the other hand, he was pretty drained from the physical exertion and his earlier drinking and this was a safe and quiet place to rest. Ford was not kicking him out so what kind of fool would he be to stumble off into the city with no place to go?

On the other _other_ hand, the bandage on Ford's shoulder, on the same spot where a bizarre, pseudo-scientific, alchemic amalgamation should've been tattooed was staring at him. One inexpertly applied brand versus the careful, intricate somehow pretentious piece of artwork that was rising and falling like a summer sea on Ford's back.

Instead of making up his mind, Rick sat there, waiting quietly in a state of numb indecision. He felt stupid for it. He figured a happy medium would be to wait for Ford to fall asleep and then leave but that made him feel stupid and cowardly. Why should it be so difficult to do now what Rick had done many times before? It was irrational and weak and yet Rick was powerless to understand it.

Ford rolled over onto his back. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. One six-fingered hand rested on his chest.

"Stanford?" He called softly. There was no response. Rick reached out and carefully removed the man's glasses. He toyed with them a moment before putting them down on the nearby milk crate. As he leaned over to reach it, Rick took the time to closely examine Ford's face.

The man under the blanket beside Rick had minor differences from the Stanford Rick had first known. That was normal in parallel selves. His face was thinner and there was a small cleft in his chin. The very first gossamer strands of grey hair were beginning their secret infiltration into the brown at Ford's temples. They were minor details that could be easily overlooked upon a cursory inspection. But, now with the glasses off, the similarities outweighed the differences.

Rick was reluctantly taken by his calm, handsome face. There had been very little time for sleep in that motel room and what sleep there had been had taken place with Stan and Rick turned away from each other. Was this how Stan had looked before waking, before he had rushed out to book a second day in that room because he had mistakenly believed Rick to be worth his time? Rick sat back up and scrubbed his face with his hands in frustration.

"Argh, this is so fucking dumb!" He growled in exasperation. He rested his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pushed into his eyes.

"Ok, honesty hour..." Rick sighed and hesitated "I miss you, you idiot."

He dropped his arms into his lap and looked over to Ford. Rick's eyes felt tired and his head hurt. He rested his head on the wall and stared into the deep tones of sunset reflecting through the homemade wind chimes. 

"Well, not you. Couldn't say this to _you_  you in person, but I was.... I was just really hoping to see you again."

His eyes turned back down to Ford's face.

"Wish granted, I guess." He added bitterly. Rick seemed to be at an internal debate, looking at the man. He lifted a hand, perhaps to brush a lock of errant hair off Ford's forehead, but quickly put it down. He glared at him as if Ford had put the thought to do it in his head. 

"I don't know, maybe I saw him and I got my hopes up, maybe you got under my skin enough to make me think I could fix what I fucked up. But, and let's be realistic here, everything I touch goes straight to Hell. He's you but he's not...Jesus Christ!" Rick didn't finish the thought, instead pressing his lips into an angry colorless line. Rick knew he sounded moronic right now, that saying these stupid things into the air wouldn't fix them or really even make him feel better.

At last, Rick laid down on his stomach, head resting in his folded arms. He looked at Ford again, envying the apparent serenity in which he slept.

"Two truths and a lie, Stud." He said, his voice and eyes and mind incredibly tired. "You were really growing on me, I'm sorry I left and I'll tell you all that next time I see you."

Rick closed his eyes and hid his face from the striking sunset fire in the hollow of his arms. As tired as he felt, Rick was not looking to rest. He just wanted to be unconscious and unthinking a while. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like updates on the newest stories in the "Two Truths & A Lie" series or would like to share them, links are posted on my tumblr. please follow and reblog at Allmyshipsareproblematic.tumblr.com


	3. Part 3

The sun had been down for some time when Ford finally woke up. He was initially surprised to see a snoring lump of blue hair on the pillow beside him but as his grogginess evaporated and the ache in his shoulder nagged he remembered what had transpired. 

Rick Sanchez. A drunken scientist who knew just how to push Ford's buttons and Stan's too apparently. The jealousy rose up in him again and a surprising feeling of resentment towards Rick. As before, Ford pushed those feelings aside.

Ford wondered vaguely where he had put his glasses, not remembering taking them off before he fell asleep. It was a bad habit but one he just couldn't break. He located them finally on the crate near the bed. He picked them up and looked at them then looked at Rick. The other man must have taken them off him as he slept. Stanley had always refused to wear his glasses. Had he finally started wearing them? The whole situation spoke of familiarity and a mean tiny part of Ford didn't like it. 

As quietly as possible he stood from the bedroll and walked to the counter to retrieve the painkillers. 

Looking out the window, Ford could see the many colored lights of the casinos as the beckoned to strangers with pockets full of money. He opened the bottle of pills as he observed the view. The first night he had seen it it had reminded him of nights at Glass Shard Beach. The nights he and Stanley would climb to the roof and watch the lights when it was too hot to sleep. Ma had expressly forbidden it but as Stan was like to say "What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her". Ford had spent more time than he liked thinking of Stan today. 

After he took the pills, he searched the floor for his pants. As his hands brushed the material of his trousers he noticed the handle of Rick's portal projector sticking out of his leather jacket. Ford grabbed his pants and pulled them on as he looked over at Rick quickly. When he was sure the tall man was asleep he reached into the coat and pulled out the two pieces. He turned them over in his hands a couple of times before walking over to his workspace and clicking on the work light.

It was some time before Rick's eyes came open sluggishly. He looked up at the kaleidoscope lights running across the ceiling and slowly sat up, arms out behind him for support. He looked around the room, taking it in and enjoying the surroundings in a groggy kind of way. His eyes fell on Ford, sitting with his back to Rick. He was working on something Rick couldn't see. Late night tinkering? Despite everything, Rick felt a genuine spark of kinship for Ford in that. Ford held something up to the light for further examination and that pleasant feeling fell apart all at once. Between his thumb and index finger, Ford was holding the green fluid bulb from Rick's portal gun.

Rick scrambled to his feet and rushed over to Ford's table. He called out in a mix of anger and panic, the voice of someone seeing their Lamborghini getting keyed from the opposite side of the parking lot.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?! What do think you're - doing..." The last word came out as a disbelieving statement of muted amazement.

Ford had done a full teardown of the portal gun. Every pin and screw had been neatly laid out with all the care of a jeweler disassembling an antique pocket watch. New lengths of wire had been measured and trimmed, sitting in bundles nearby. The fastidiousness and attention to detail with which the work was done spoke of ingenuity and even a kind of reverence. Photographed and framed just so, the layout could almost be called artistic. Rick stared, mouth hanging open slightly. He found himself torn between being impressed and furious. 

Ford turned his head and blinked owlishly at Rick as he stood there looking at his work. 

"Greetings." He intoned somewhat cheerfully. He had worked on the portal gun for the better part of two hours and it had been a revelation. The intricate design and attention to detail had been etched into the very fiber of the machine. For Ford, it had been like listening to an opera. It was a handheld masterpiece. 

"Did I wake you?" He asked congenially.

Rick faltered, equally lost between his shock and the familiar, almost proud way Ford was addressing him. He childishly tried to hold onto his annoyance.

"No," He admitted sharply if somewhat distracted. "What are you doing going through my shit?"

Rick's eye caught on the various pieces and picked one up that looked like firing pin and examined it. His brow furrowed.

"Did you clean these?" He asked, looking at Ford. The portal fluid had a way of gunking up the works with crumbly green residue after a while and Rick was notoriously lazy about maintaining it. The pin as well as all the other applicable parts had been carefully wiped down and glinted in the lamplight.

"I didn't mean to pry." Ford started turning back to the pieces of the gun. "I was getting medicine and saw the pieces and thought I'd fix it as you've been very helpful to me when I was in need. There's no way I could have stitched myself up. I owe you a debt for that. I thought perhaps fixing your portal projector might repay the debt to some extent." He tilted his head slightly and looked at Rick as he said "Some of the wires were corroded and there was a back up of residue in some areas. I hope this is ok."

"No... it's fine." Rick muttered not entirely certain why he was being so forgiving. Rick had broken noses for less and here Ford was, just taking his precious portal gun to bits. Well cared for and clean bits, but still...

Rick watched Ford gently begin reassembling the organized parts with seemingly no difficulty. Ford's six fingers hands moved with grace and fluidity. It was mesmerizing to watch. It gave Rick a feeling akin to one musician watching another coax a tune from an instrument with all the passion in their heart. An outsider could see it but only another expert could truly understand the effort and intensity.

"You have a better grasp on portal tech than the other Stanford." He observed. The thought that had crossed Rick's mind when he had first grasped Ford's genius bubbled up to the surface. A Stanford with all the fire of his one time lover and a mind to rival his own was something he had not been expecting. Ford almost dropped the delicate piece of wire he was holding. The thought of Stanley working on the portal was laughable if not terrifying. 

"As you said, he was a boxer. His dimension didn't put him on the path to science as mine did." Ford continued working and busied himself with the delicate work so he wouldn't have to look at Rick. "Correlation doesn't equal causation. The whole concept would most likely go over his head." He added as a bit of a jab, even though Stanley wasn't even there. 

Regardless of their context, Rick's own words on correlation felt like they were being thrown back in his face when Ford said it. Ford looked at what he had done so far, checking for any loose wires or broken screws. 

"I thought for certain the size of this portal projector would make it highly unsafe but you really were able to miniaturize the components so they work properly. It's really a wonder, Rick."

Rick took his shirt down from the clothesline and pulled it over his head. It censored his nudity, if just barely. He shrugged as if the praise was uninteresting. He didn't comment but instead stepped over to the window. He leaned forward to rest his elbow in the sill, chin in his thin hand. He crossed one bare foot behind the other and his t-shirt pulled up to show his bare buttocks but Rick seemed unbothered by it. He looked out over the harbor, watching the gambling barges come in and out of the dock. The flashing lights played in the hollows of Rick's thin face. For a moment the only sounds were the muted ones of reveling and boat horns outside.

"I like this dimension." Rick mumbled. All the neon and misty moonlight outside reminded him of Palmer's Peak and Rick was replaying his one night there in his head. The scuff of his boots on the smooth dancefloor and the scents of Aqua Velva and cigars. Rick had a look on his face that could've been melancholy or thoughtfulness or perhaps a kind of nameless sad nostalgia.

"As do I." Ford said turning to look at the other man. He couldn't help but stare. He had really grown to like Rick as he worked on the portal gun. He had gotten more insight on the man from taking apart his work than he had in any of the time they'd been together. "The lights remind me of my childhood home and I was always good with probability so money is easy to come by." He smiled and checked out Rick's butt one more time before turning back to his work.

Rick was only half listening, being too concerned with contempt for his own sickly sentimentality to give Ford his full attention but he was not too distracted to read between the lines. He didn't move but his eyes shifted to find Ford.

"You count cards?" He returned his attention to the view outside. So different and yet still he was a con man too. Despite his sleep, Rick looked drained. His voice was that of soft resentful passivity "Why do you have to keep surprising me...?"

"I'm not proud of it but I suppose it's for the greater good." Ford didn't turn. He kept working. Just needed to affix the outer plating. "I don't mean to surprise you, Rick. Never really thought of myself as surprising really."

Rick's other elbow came up to the sill to join its brother and Rick buried his face in his hands. All Rick wanted to do was march over and beg Ford to speak to him in Spanish or tell him how shitty New Coke tasted and when Ford would, of course, have no idea what he was talking about all Rick would want to do then would be punch him. He hated Ford for making Rick acknowledge how much he missed Stan with his very existence and he hated himself for missing anyone in the first place. This had been a mistake, another stupid mistake that Rick believed he had been too slick to get caught in.

"Looks like that's it." Ford said picking up the reassembled portal gun. "Should work just fine now or at least I think it should." he checked the balance of it the way one would check an actual gun. "Do you want to check it?"

Rick ignored him.

Ford wasn't good at reading body language. Stanley had been the sensitive one that could tell when someone needed comfort. Ford was the one always wrapped up in what was happening to himself or his project of the moment but silence from this chatty loud man didn't feel right. He placed the portal gun down and assessed the other man. 

"Rick?" He said softly. "What's wrong?" 

He stood and approached the other man. Rick spun on Ford before he could reach out and touch him. He looked at the man, an anxious spark in his eye. To Ford, he looked a bit like a cornered animal that was deciding between fight and flight. If he could see Rick's wheels turning when they had first met, they were positively whirling now. Like the reels of a slot machine.

"Yeah... yeah, let's test it out. Where do you want to go?" He said in an easygoing tone. He brushed past Ford, snatching up the portal gun as he passed. He grabbed his jeans and stepped into them somewhat clumsily. Rick examined the portal gun, noticing the neat soldering Ford had done to reattach the handle, then pointed it at Ford, aiming with one closed eye in a way that could have been flirty. "Go ahead, try me."

Ford watched Rick closely. Anytime anyone started acting this twitchy around Ford it put him on edge. 

"I'm still healing, Rick. I don't know if I'm ready for anything too strenuous." He said cautiously. Out of the corner of his eye, Ford looked for his coat.

"Come on, you're living in Lottocron Nine. Tell me you don't want to take a gamble." Rick lowered the gun, letting the thought sink in. He slipped his boots on but didn't tie them. He didn't look at Ford as he continued. Rick busied himself with picking up his earlier fallen jacket, turning the sleeves right side out and slipping it on casually.

"I could...take you to see the other Stanford. You were really interested in knowing about him. How about I drop you off for a chat? Get the story right from the horse's mouth?" Rick suggested in a relaxed way as if it had just occurred to him.

It was a puerile idea and a half formed one at that. Rick knew that but he also knew he couldn't just let himself go back to the Mystery Shack without a reason, certainly not. Maybe if he could get Ford to agree to an interdimensional field trip, the plausible deniability to any sticky feelings would perhaps be strong enough to keep Rick at an acceptable arm's length and still give him the in with Stan. Rick figured he could fill in the gaps as he went.

"No! " Ford answered sternly. He hadn't meant it to sound so angry but there was no way he could go back now. "I - I just don't think that's needed. I fear I may be disappointed by it." He added quickly with a smile. He moved to a low cabinet and pulled out a sweater. 

"As long as it isn't the M dimension I'm fine with wherever you choose." He said then slowly and laboriously started to pull the sweater on. He groaned softly as he worked his right arm into the sleeve. Rick put his portal gun away and approached Ford. He tried to make one last attempt.

"You play it too safe, you know that? Don't wonder, just take a chance and see what happens. What are you afraid of?" He asked. Ford's cheerfulness slipped away and he looked up at Rick with regret. 

"Of making things worse." He said quietly. Ford took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you ever heard of Bill Cipher or the nightmare realm?"

Rick was taken aback by Ford's sudden change of mood. He made an unconvinced face and waved the notion away.

"Nightmare realm? You believe in all that garbage? I mean, theoretically it exists but it's an outlier between dimensions. It's basically the lint trap of the multiverse." He sneered.

"It's real, Rick. I've been there. I was tricked into building my portal to let those monsters, led by Bill, into my dimension." Ford said seriously. "I have to find a way to defeat him and close off the nightmare realm for good."

Rick's eyebrow shot up. He took a deep breath and held it, trying to process what he had just heard.

"Okay, wow..." He let the breath out in a rush following it with a series of mouth pops and awkward sounds as if he were just hoping to fill the air. His cynical mouth got the better of him though and before he could stop himself added: "So this won't be the first time I've stuck it in crazy..."

Furrowing his brow, Ford balled up his fists and placed them on his hips. "I'm not crazy, Rick. It's real." The Author realized his stance was that of a petulant child. He dropped his arms and turned away. "Whether you believe me or not, I must find a way to defeat Bill. That's why I've been searching for rifts and drifting through dimensions for the last eight years. Only when I've done all of that can I finally go home."

A feeling of annoyance went through Rick. There was never an easy way for him. He had stumbled on the first interesting someone in a long time and it turned out that not only did he end up fucking himself over with a major case of confused, sappy displacement but his recent conquest may have been on the cusp of a breakthrough that even Rick himself figured impossible. Or he may have been nuttier than squirrel shit. Either way, it was not fair to Rick to get embroiled in all this when he had just been looking for a good time.

The frustration was replaced by the more realistic thought that a good time was not what Rick had really been after and that there was no way this night was going to end how he wanted. Rick decided that if that was the way it was going to be, he would lean into it as hard as possible. Rick lifted his palms in a sign of surrender. He sauntered over to Ford with all the confidence of a Matador ready to fight the bull.

"Look, I get it. You've got your thing you've gotta do. Bumming around the multiverse with a guy like me isn't your speed. I won't take it personally." He said. He placed a palm on Ford's chest. Physical contact but not too close or tender. "But if you ever need someone to take the wheel again, I'm your man."

Ford cursed himself for blushing yet again this evening but Rick seemed to have that effect on him.

"I don't always stay here. Perhaps I'll leave you clues as to where I'm going next. If you can find me, I'm yours." He said it a bit cheekily but the blush softened it a little. Rick liked the sound of that but he tried to not seem too eager.

"That's a new one. I'm gonna warn you. Rick Sanchez doesn't chase after anybody. What if when I find your little clues, and I will find them, believe me - What if I just decide to ignore them? What then?"

"Then you don't get to have me." Ford said with a smirk. "I made the assumption that you enjoyed our time together but perhaps I was too hasty in my theory." He moved a little closer to Rick. "If it makes you feel better you can think of it as a game of hide and go seek. I played that as a child. I was small for my age so I was rather good at it."

"Shit, fine, call my buff. See what happens. You're a terrible flirt, by the way." Rick said, pettiness coloring his words. The hand on Ford's chest took the material into a tight fist and brought their bodies together with a sharp tug. He looked into Ford's eyes with an intensity so fierce it made the hair on the back of Ford's neck stand up. "If you want to play, I'm game. But just so you know, I'll win. Trust me."

His words were in that dangerous dominating tone that had not too long ago, enticed words and actions in Ford he was not aware he was capable of. Rick's fingers traveled over the landscape of Ford's arms where they came to rest on Ford's hands.

"You have until the count of..." Rick entwined his fingers into Ford's own a moment, squeezing softly, before retreating back up to the back of Ford's neck "...twelve, and then I'm coming after you. So close your eyes. Count for me. And don't you stop. I don't want you to have an unfair head start."

Ford smiled. The way Rick had manhandled and spoken to him had made Ford half hard. He fought for self-control and closed his eyes. "One... two.... three.... four.... five.... six..."

Rick held his body close, all but clinging to Ford as he both heard and felt the rumble of the man's baritone voice ringing through his chest. There would be no warmth here. Not in the arms that should have been identical to ones that held him on that smokey dancefloor. This unnamed agreement would be purely physical, purely carnal. If he were to come into contact with Ford again, there would be no question of that. 

"Seven...eight..."

His hand took Ford's hair by the root at the nape of his neck. He could feel the want pouring off of Ford in rivers. He pulled his portal gun out, running it up Ford's side like some kind of metaphysical threat.

"Nine...ten...eleven..."

Rick's leg came up between Ford's own, grinding close. Rick pointed the gun over his shoulder without looking away from Ford's shut-eyed, visibly affected face. Rick kissed Ford breathtakingly hard. It was a signal. A signature on the encounter Rick would proudly endorse.

Rick let himself fall back, upsetting Ford's own balance. His eyes came open in surprise. Rick pressed the button and a churning portal came to life behind him. Rick broke the kiss and gave Ford the most brazen smile he could manage. If the kiss had been a signature for this rendezvous, the smile was an invitation to the next.

Ford felt panic and the buzz of the portal's cracking energy on his cheeks as he fell toward it with Rick. At the last moment, Rick shoved hard and Ford pitched back and away. The green light battled the glow of the casinos as Rick fell in and Ford fell out. Rick never stopped smiling nor broke eye contact as he fell in. The portal closed with a rush of air and left Ford alone in the stuttering casino neon. Catching himself on his workbench, Ford stared at the spot where the portal had been. 

"It worked." He breathed. His face felt flush from excitement and that last kiss. He moved to the seat at the work table and pulled out the vial of glowing green liquid he had siphoned out of the portal gun. Ford looked at the viscous fluid. It was only a matter of time until he figured out what it was made of. He understood the components that he would need to make his own portal machine or at least something that worked better than just drifting the way he had been. 

Ford smiled and placed the vial aside and began cutting wire and the pieces he would need for his newest endeavor. "Ready or not. Here we go." He said quietly.

 

  
Rick had let himself off to the last place the portal gun had been tuned to. His moody exit turned into rather graceless entrance out of a wall in a casino, falling onto his back on the carpet. Rick laid on the floor a moment, ignoring the startled cries of passing patrons, who sifted around him. He wore a thoughtful sneer and huffed a sigh out of his nose. For an afternoon full of sex, Rick was feeling incredibly unfulfilled. He lurched to his feet and looked up to the sign in its flashing letters of blue and red. Rick reached into his pocket and pulled a coin with a matching name. Slots n' Shots.

Rick could use a drink. He had started this whole debacle drunk. It only made sense to return to the last time he didn't feel like garbage. Before he had thought of Stan Pines again. 

It had all been Ford's fault really. He had walked his know it all little ass into the bar where Rick had been happily binging. An entire city planet full of tacky bars and he picked Rick's. Rick smiled bitterly at the Casablanca like parallels.

Parallels. That's where the real problem was, if Rick was honest. He had made the stupid assumption that one Stanford was as good as another. He had really truly tried to believe that to the point of forcing it upon himself. As someone who had met as many Ricks as there were stars in the sky, Rick should have known better. At the risk of sounding hackneyed, there was no one like Mr. Mystery. 

Rick slinked into the bar. Piano music tinkled, dreamy and sad, whether pre-recorded or from a live source Rick did not know. The night was still young and the place was not busy yet. The crowds were in the casino proper, hoping that when they did make it to the bar it would be to toast their victory and not to drown their sorrows. For Rick, land was steadily retreating and he didn't plan on treading water long. 

Anyone who touted alcohol as merely a poison had nothing inside them that warranted killing and Rick thought less of them. The only solution to his current dilemma was to drink. Drink until the only thing his mind had time to handle was his gross motor skills and when those began to waver, get angry with his inability to stay upright and keep drinking until he was convinced sobriety was cyclical and he could chase it back to the start.

Rick slung his coin into the slot, recognizing the feeling any gambler knows upon surrendering their last token to a one-armed bandit. A risk and one that most likely would not pay off but that reality, like so many others, could be ignored.

This would be the first drink of many, bought or casually taken from tables when people left them to dance or bummed off of other lonely people who would oblige you if the proper amount of sincerity was faked. A christening champagne bottle against the bow of Rick's emotional ship as it was set sail and eventually sunk in the very waters that bore it.

Rick pulled the brass lever with perhaps a bit more ferocity than he had intended. Cherries and bells and the lucky numbers of a hundred alien societies spun dizzyingly as if pushing each other to the forefront in an attempt to saddle their friends with Rick's company and save themselves. Rick snatched a cup and placed it under the spout.

This was how it was supposed to be. Drink, forget, move on and stop feeling like an oversensitive, dangerously softhearted tool. Rick Sanchez was not a victim. He didn't do yearning and any woebegotten self pity had no place in him.

The reels clunked to a stop in sequence. Lights and sounds celebrated alone and a dark liquid poured out. Rick took the cup in hand and not waiting to see what he had won, took a deep drink. It could have been sambuca and battery acid for all Rick cared. The deep gratifying tang of spice and caramel hit his nose a moment before the booze entered his mouth. A deep painful throb resonated in Rick's chest as he tasted the dry sharpness blooming hot and strong on his palette. His mouth was filled with the bite of rich oak and char. It was a flavor ever present in his memories of a winter night in the Pacific Northwest.

Rick looked up at the reels and saw three identical pictograms of a tom turkey, plumage outstretched. "Triple Turkey!!!" The flashing lights of blue and red neon read. Rick breathed in, air getting caught in his throat with the impact if the realization. A sudden urge to tip the machine raced through him but Rick was just so fed up he couldn't muster the energy to do it. Instead he just weakly rested his forehead on the glowing cabinet and screwed his eyes shut tightly. The glare of the blinking lights pierced through his eyelids and to the outside world, Rick might have been a gambler who had finally gone bust after the prolonged and painful struggle of a losing streak.

"You gotta be fucking kidding..."  He said in a low, jaded voice of defeat.

Rick kept drinking, wishing he couldn't taste it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like updates on the newest stories in the "Two Truths & A Lie" series or would like to share them, links are posted on my tumblr. please follow and reblog at Allmyshipsareproblematic.tumblr.com


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